


Neon Moon

by smallbeans



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Harry Potter, Child Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Leaves the Wizarding World, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Harry Potter, Muggle Life, Powerful Harry Potter, Slow Burn, Telekinesis, Underage Smoking, but then he comes back!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-10-09 10:20:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbeans/pseuds/smallbeans
Summary: In his second year, Harry leaves Hogwarts under the black cloud of accusations to him being a dark wizard. He disappears off the face of the wizarding and Muggle world when he doesn't meet the Dursley's at Victoria Station. Five years later, Voldemort is resurrected and begins to wreak havoc once more. The two worlds take a plunge, and Dumbledore reveals they have one single solution: the famous, lost Harry Potter.





	1. By Hatred Hand

**Author's Note:**

> howdy! so, it has taken me 18 years to start and finish reading the HP series, and now i finally understand why everyone raves about. honestly, it has taken over my entire life. 
> 
> i've also made a [mood board](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/6a/05/b6/6a05b67da033a2571831c79308c196f2.jpg) for this stories version of harry because UGH i love him <3 check it out if you want, none of the pictures are mine but the mood board is so :)
> 
> work title: Neon Moon by Cigarettes After Sex (check them out pls <3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this first chapter is kind of flat, nothing happens but it's a prologue so it's just setting the bar. enjoy, loves! <3

******Prologue**

It all started in his second year at Hogwarts. Blood was being painted on the walls, cats were being killed and tortured, students were being petrified, and all the arrows somehow pointed to Harry. He’s not sure why it was him. He’s not sure what happened during the night that always possessed him to follow and lead himself to these incidents. He hated it, but nobody really blamed him for the coincidences. At least, no one blamed him until the bodies started turning up.

Frozen stiff, eyes blank and completely comatose, students were appearing in random places. Petrified, they were. Harry hated almost every moment of his second year. The rumours drove him to tears, drove him to sleepless nights and paranoia so bad he was constantly on edge. He was waiting for the day when Ron and Hermione turned their back on him like the rest of the school, like the Griffindor students and the teachers. There were moments when Harry thinks even teachers like Mrs McGonagall suspected him, when the teachers who are meant to believe and trust him suspected that he was some form of dark wizard.

Maybe it was suspicious, but Harry still had nothing to do with it. So when it started to go around that he was the Heir to Slytherin, and that he was trying to open the Chamber of Secrets so a Muggle will die, Harry didn’t know what to do. He’d walk the corridors, whispers and threats following him - more so than normal, and this time not coming from just the Slytherins. He felt uncomfortable in the dorm room, the classes, even during meals in the Great Hall. And then, when Hermione was finally petrified too, Harry felt like everything was finally crumbling beneath him and he’d lost the ground holding him up.

Harry didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know who to turn to, who to ask for help, who to check still believed him. He was scared, for the people around him and himself. He wondered, sometimes, if they’re actually right in their theories: _was_ he the Heir? Was he the person who’s been hurting and terrorising people? Was he causing all of this? Could he be as bad as they were saying he was?

Harry didn’t know, and he also didn’t _want_ to know. He’d heard a lot about his past, about his parents and about his time as a baby against Voldemort. There has always been a nagging feeling, sitting at the back of his mind, quiet but there, wondering if something changed when he was a child, if everything that happened tarnished him in a way. Was he innocent?

Was he _really_ innocent?

Harry was raised with a head full of dark thoughts and mental screaming. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon communicated to him with abusive words and clenched fists. He wasn’t used to love, to affection and to support, but he certainly wasn’t bullet proof to emotional torture like that. His early life had been anything but comforting, and Harry had been surprised by the safety he felt at the castle during his second year. He was shaken when that feeling was taken away during his second year, jarred so sharply he was beginning to doubt everything he’d ever thought he knew.

So, Harry did the only thing he could think of: he ran away.

He consulted Dumbledore first, went into his office and begged him to do something, anything to let him leave. Dumbledore had been reluctant, but a glimpse in his eye told Harry that even he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening around the castle either. Dumbledore arranged a train to take Harry back to Victoria in London, where he was to meet the Dursley’s and go home until the school had settled down. It would bring up complications for his third year, having missed so many classes by the time he comes back, but Harry begged with all his mite to get Dumbledore to let him leave.

And so, that night, he packed a bag and silently crept out of the room. He wanted to say something to Ron and Hermione, but Hermione was frozen and Ron had begun to look at Harry with a spec of fear and anger, and Harry couldn't bare for his last memory of Ron looking at him to be with such a lack of friendliness.

He'd tiptoed down the stairs and out of the common room, dressed in the clothes he came in; his baggy jeans, the hand-me-down jumper that was littered with holes, and Dudleys old rucksack on his back. He didn't have a lot to take with him: almost all of his belongings were Hogwarts related and would be transported to the Dursley's in his trunk later. He'd only carried with him a book, his wand, another jumper and some snacks for the train.

He'd made his way to the entrance, where Dumbledore was waiting for him. They'd kept it between them, not even the teachers or Hagrid had any idea Harry was leaving. It was best, Dumbledore figured, to keep his planned departure entirely secret until he was fully gone. Harry understood, mostly because he wasn't ready to see the look of relief on everyone's faces when they heard he was getting out of the way. He'd hoped his departure would prove his innocence, or if not, at least stop the destruction happening around the castle.

"I can come back, in September, right?" Harry asled as they walked down the dark path. "I can come back for my third year?"

"Of course you can, Harry. I'm sure when this all blows over, you'll be able to come back comfortably," Dumbledore replied. "Everything will sort itself, Harry."

"Are you sure?"

"Have I given you reason to doubt me yet?" 

Harry shook his head. 

"No matter what happens, Harry, I want you to know, whether you choose to come back in September or not, you will also be important."

"Important, how?"

"It doesn't matter now. What matters is wherever you go, I will be able to find you when it is absolutely essential."

Harry frowned, but nodded none the less. 

Dumbledore walked him to Hogsmeade where he saw him from the platform. The train had stood in silence, eerie in the darkness. Harry hadn't known what to say to Dumbledore, hadn't know if it was a moment of goodbye or not. Dumbledore had just laid a hand on his shoulder and looked at with him eyes filled with sadness. Harry took that as a goodbye.

He boarded the train alone. The ride felt like it took years, and by the time Harry made it to London, he was angry.

He was angry Ron and Hermione hadn't believed him. He was angry was given the blame, that the students and teachers, that his _friends_ hadn't been able to see past his famous name that glued him to all the blame and problems in the castle. He was angry that Dumbledore, who had promised him safety and happiness, hadn't done more to help him. He was angry Dumbledore hadn't said anything, hadn't assured him it was going to be okay. The anger bubbled inside him like nothing else, boiling like lava and overflowing like a filled sink. He had stared out into the darkness, his emotions swarming him. He was angry, and hurt, and confused and scared. He wasn't ready to go home to the Dursley's, and the idea of going back for his third year scared him even more.

When had Harry got off the train, he made a decision. He didn't look around for his uncle and aunt. Instead, he marched straight to the station exit and didn't look back.

 

Harry Potter was declared missing 14 days after he left Hogwarts. It wasn't until a member of the ministry, whom had been watching the Dursley house for three days, suspected that he hadn't seen sight of the Potter child and decided to go inside while the Dursley's were out only to discovered that the trunk had been delivered, but Harry had not.

The magical world had been thrown in panic. The Boy Who Lived, the most famous child alive, was missing and no one, not even the most incredible Albus Dumbledore, had any idea where he had gone. The Dursley's has been interrogated by the Ministry, but it was decided between them all to keep the missing signs to Surrey only. The Ministry were worried that if it became global knowledge that Harry Potter was missing and not somewhere protected, those whom supported Voldemort and wanted revenge for the loss of their leader may begin to seek out the lost child.

But Harry was no where to be found. The search, by Ministry members and close friends of Dumbledore, went on for months. When they finally gave up hope, no one could decide what to end it with. Could they strike the line that Harry Potter was _dead_? Could they keep him announced missing? Could they declare him kidnapped and begin interrogating? Could they lie and say he's found, to avoid rioting and the spotlight still being shone on the child?

No one had known the answer. So instead, they did nothing. The Ministry were more than happy to let the news die down, to let the blame on their backs lift for letting The Boy Who Lived to go missing at such a time. Dumbledore had taken the blame with a nod and an agreement: he blamed himself for many reasons. He knew he shouldn't have let Harry leave Hogwarts, let alone allow him to get the train alone. In the Muggle world, Harry may not have been famous for his name but he was still a child alone in London or somewhere else. It was a crucial time, with the dangers in Hogwarts and the Chamber of Secrets being enough of a worry, Dumbledore should have known that in Harry's headspace, being practically driven out of his boarding school, that he wouldn't have been as mentally sound or aware when he got to London as he should have been.

Peace at Hogwarts was resumed before the school year was up. Ginny Weasley was revealed to have been possessed by a diary that Ron admitted Harry had found at the beginning of the year, and word of Voldemort's existence was once again strung through the wizarding networks. But Harry Potter was still no where to be found.

The second school year ended and third year began. Dumbledore hired Remus Lupin, whom had been in distraught since Harry was declared missing. He wasn't convinced about coming to work, but he did anyway. He fell into the job easily enough, and with the help of Severus’ potions and remedies, was able to control his shift enough to continue living on the grounds. Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban prison, and Dumbledore knew he was coming to Hogwarts to see if the rumours he must have heard in prison were true: if his God-son was _really_ missing. It had been a messy reveal, with the Peter Pettigrew being Ron Weasley's family rat, Sirius' appearance and then disappearance to the Black House (Dumbledore had made sure Sirius' whereabouts had gone off the grid) and despite Remus Lupin's werewolf identity still kept undercover, he resigned from Hogwarts to continue working with the Ministry alongside Aurors Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody.

Life went on. Ron, Hermione, Neville, and all the other students continued studying at Hogwarts. Dumbledore, Minerva, Severus continued to teach. Sirius stayed locked up in his childhood home, plagued with the nightmares it brought and recovering from his time in Azkaban prison.

And all the while, Harry Potter was never found, or heard from, or seen.

 

Five years later, and Dumbledore finds himself looking down at the paper Fudge has slammed down on his school office desk.

"I don't want to believe this nonsense, Dumbledore," he says.

Dumbledore looks from the crumpled front page, where in large block headlines, it reads about Voldemort's 'alleged' return. He looks up, "No one is forcing you to believe it, Cornelius."

"Then _stop_ having your students spread this utter nonsense!" Fudge exclaims, pointing at the paper with a shaking finger.

Dumbledore is not fazed. "Cornelius, don't you think it would be wise to make the public aware that there has been a resurrection of the very much still feared Vol—"

" _Stop!_ " Fudge shrieks, actually stepping back. His face is etched with horror. "Do not say his name. Do not! I can’t— Albus, this is not something you are entitled to decide who knows. It's nonsense. Nothing but lies that the public do _not_ need to be hearing from one of the most trusted wizards of the century. Do you understand?"

"It may not be my decision, but it’s nor your right to deny the public of knowledge that could potentially put them in danger. They should be aware of Vol—"

" _Don’t!_ "

Dumbledore breathes tightly through his nose. "They should be aware that he is back."

"He’s not _back!_ "

"Cornelius—"

"No! I will have no more of this nonsense!" Fudge exclaims, snatching up the paper and turning on his heel towards the fireplace. He’s gone with a green flash and Dumbledore drops into his chair. Voldemort’s resurrection has thrown the magical world off its kilter, and while Dumbledore doesn’t worry about much, he is certainly worried about this. The safety of everyone, in and out of Hogwarts, is in more danger than it has been for the last 17 years. The summer has barely begun, Hogwarts is currently closed and the students are at home, but word of Voldemort’s return is getting around fast.

Dumbledore lets out a heavy breath. He delicately plucks a sheet of parchment and swipes up his feather ink pen as he begins to write some letters. He writes onto each member of the Order of the Phoenix, which has been recently regrouped in sight of Voldemort’s resurrection. Whatever is happening outside the Hogwarts walls, Dumbledore knows he cannot deal with it alone. He has duties, suspicion on his shoulders and eyes on his back.

He owls the letters to the members of the Order, and three days later, they are all gathered around number 12 Grimmauld Place’s kitchen table. Dumbledore looks around at his Order members: Mad-Eye, Tonks, Remus, Sirius, Arthur Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dedalus Diggle, Minerva McGonagall and Mundungus Fletcher.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming at such short notice. I am sure you are aware of the rumours the Prophet is publishing, and the truth that is also making its way around the wizarding world regarding Voldemort’s return," Dumbledore says.

"We all know what the truth is, Albus," Mad-Eye grunts, his fake eye rolling around in its socket aimlessly. "What we want to know if _how_ Voldemort has come back to life."

"It is to my knowledge, Voldemort used something he developed himself called the Rudimentary Body Potion, which involved him taking a bone from his fathers body along with unicorn blood and flesh from a servant."

"Servant?"

"Peter Pettigrew," Dumbledore reveals. He doesn’t miss the way Remus and Sirius flinch at the name. "The potion allowed Voldemort his body back, and hence his return."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Minerva asks. "The Ministry has personally warned you to keep this 'opinion' under-wraps. We have no place to be barking rumours around and frightening the public, nor do we have any physical proof to prove our matter."

"If Voldemort is back, the public deserve to know," Remus adds.

"They do, but as Fudge told Dumbledore, it is not our place nor our power to tell them."

"Are we supposed to sit back and let them think nothing is going on?" Tonks argues.

"Of course not," Minerva gasps. "We will not just stand by as Voldemort repeats history."

"There is only one person who can truly defeat Voldemort," Dumbledore says, and grave looks fill the faces around the table.

After a long moment, Lupin says, "You mean Harry."

Dumbledore nods.

"Well, then we’re out of bloody luck, aren’t we?" Mad-Eye grumbles. "The child is gone. There must be another solution."

"There isn’t, but don’t lose hope so fast, Alastor, for Harry is not gone," Dumbledore replies.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asks.

"Harry Potter is alive, and he is in London."

A mixture of emotions that fill the room. Minerva, Tonks and Arthur gasps, Snape’s eyes widen with shock, Mad-Eye is struck with surprise, and Kingsley frowns in confusion.

Sirius stands up abruptly. "You know where he is?"

Dumbledore nods. "For a while, yes, and I suggest we get in contact. Harry is the only solution to Voldemort’s resurrection."

"Is he okay?" Tonks asks. "He’s been missing for years, how do we know he is even capable of magic anymore?"

"Do you know what he’s been doing all these years?" Arthur asks, worry lining his tone. Arthur was the only person in the room, other than Dumbledore and the teachers, who’d actually met Harry before his disappearance. Arthur had something to miss when Harry disappeared, his family as well suffered from the loss. His eyes are filled with hope now, relief like no other.

"I do not know what Harry has been doing all these years. All I know is that someone has recently been in contact with me about his whereabouts, due to the speculation going around about Voldemort’s return. She believes it’s time for Harry to finally be apart of this."

"What is he meant to do?" Tonks asks. "He hasn’t been at Hogwarts. He surely hasn’t been taught how to control magic."

"Harry will know what to do, when the time is right," Dumbledore explains, his voice nothing but certain and confident. Severus Snape wants to roll his eyes: he for one does not believe in Harry’s alleged brilliance.

"So, we have to get Harry," Minerva muses. "Is that our solution, Dumbledore? I do not think it is fair to put all of this on the weight of a child."

"Harry is seventeen as of last month. And no, that’s our first step. Remus and I will go and speak to him the day after tomorrow. In the mean time, I want you all to gather the information we have on Voldemort and his Death-Eaters whereabouts. Sirius has been generous enough to donate the Black House to the Order’s new headquarters. Arthur, feel free to bring your family here. They may not be safe at the Burrow anymore, Molly and the children are welcome here."

Arthur nods. "Thank you, Dumbledore, Sirius."

Sirius nods in reply, but offers no words. He looks struck, stunned even, and Dumbledore knows exactly why: ever since his escape, Sirius has been reminded that he’d never see his past best friends son, his own god-son. But now, the fate has changed and Sirius is obviously trying to process that the chance of him meeting Harry is going to happen.

"So," Lupin starts. "We’re going to find Harry, you say? He’s in London?"

Dumbledore nods.

"In the very same city as us," Sirius murmurs, sitting down in one of the kitchen chairs, "and we never even knew."

"Why didn’t you tell us earlier?" Lupin asks. "He’s been _missing_ for _years_."

"I have not known about Harry’s location for years, Remus. Only a short while, and it didn’t seem appropriate to interrupt his life without good reason."

"And Voldemort’s return is a good enough reason?"

"Voldemort will be seeking Harry out. He has more right than anyone to know what is going on and to be in the front lines," Dumbledore replies. "It will never be an aim of mine to put Harry in danger, but this is not something we can avoid. If we don’t go to Harry, Voldemort will."

Lupin looks to Sirius. For a moment, they exchange some kind of mental conversation. Then Lupin looks to Dumbledore.

"When do we leave?"

 

_— tbc._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter soon, stay tuned! :)


	2. Harry James

1

Despite being to London hundreds of times before, it intrigues Remus Lupin every time he walks the streets. Walking among the Muggles is something out of a fantasy. He watches, almost overwhelmed, as people dash past him on the small, uneven and overcrowded pavements. While London is as dirty and overpopulated as he remembers it, Lupin finds it hard to convince himself that all of this is unaware and oblivious to 12 Grimmauld Place sitting literally on it’s door step. He watches the faces of those who pass him, the expressions a mixture of frustration or emptiness or annoyance. Some people have wires leading into their ears, which Arthur Weasley raved about as being 'headphones', or are looking down at glossy, light-up devices in their hands. Lupin reals at the sights of their brightly coloured clothes - or some peoples lack of, and he looks down at his own clothes, feeling like something out of an old fashioned photo with his tweed blazer and tie. Despite his mother not being a witch, Lupin is rather uneducated and unaware of the Muggle world. No matter how much time he spends around them, he can’t force himself to ever feel like he’s not standing out like a sore thumb. He spent his whole childhood and life in the mix of the wizarding world, surrounded by wizarding traditions, and stepping out onto Muggle streets feels like stepping into a foreign country.

"Where are we going?" He asks Dumbledore, who is walking beside him underneath a invisibility charm. They'd discussed it before they left - Dumbledore was to be covered with the charm as there was a high, and understandable, chance that Harry would recognise his old wizarding headmaster walking right in front of him. There is also the unvoiced reason that Dumbledore would stick out more than Lupin in his long robes and pointy hat.

"Keep walking straight. We'll be there in a moment. I'll tell you when we need to turn off," Dumbledore replies, voice stark clear despite being under the charm. Lupin thinks it's a miracle no one has shouted in fright at the talking air.The pavements that are heavily packed with pedestrians trying to catch buses and dash into underground stations begin to thin out so much that Lupin can barely walk five steps without getting shoulder barged or knocked off balance by the sweep of some Muggle in a hurry.

"Here," the headmaster says after a few minutes. "Go right, down this road."

Lupin obeys and quickly dashes between the foot traffic. Dumbledore has lead him down a simple looking Muggle street, where both sides are lined with shops and cafés and the floors above are built with chipped bricks. Many windows above are open, some with white curtains hanging out and flapping in the light breeze thats sweeping through London.

Making their way down the cracked and crumbling slates of pavement, Lupin looks into the windows of the small stores and cafes. They're teeming with Muggles of all ages - women drinking out of shallow white mugs and nibbling on slices of cake; people dressed in suits or tight skirts grabbing flasks of drinks and dashing out the cafes like their lives depend on it; men sitting alone with half drunk beverages and books or foldable contraptions (Lupin thanks Arthur called them laptops) on the tables in front of them.

"Where to now?" He asks Dumbledore, who he trusts is still walking close behind him.

"There should be a restaurant down here called 'The Black Brew'. We need to go in there," Dumbledore replies, and true to his assumptions, moments later they're standing outside a dimly lit building with a simple, dark green painted sign reading _The_ _Black_ _Brew_ , _London_.

"It's a pub," Lupin says. "He works in a _pub_?"

"It appears so," Dumbledore muses.

"Dumbledore, do I need to remind you he is _17_ ," Lupin almost shrieks. "I don't know Merlin about Muggle laws, but surely he's not old enough to—"

"Nothing to fret about now, Remus," Dumbledore interferes. "Come on, in we go."

Lupin takes the lead and opens the pub door. Instantly, he is swarmed with hot air, like he's walked into an exploding air bag. The change in temperature is so startling it strikes him like a slap. Inside is crowded. The bar is unreachable because of the people hovering around it. The atmosphere is stuffy and warm, but not unpleasantly so. Lupin can imagine it getting worse later, when the night begins and the drunkards start to stumble in and out.

Lupin takes seat in one of the windows either side of the large double doors they entered through. He pulls out a seat for Dumbledore, as to not look peculiar if the chair were to move on its own.

The ceiling of the pub is low, almost cottage like. There are wooden beams running along, attached to pillars standing down onto the equally old-looking wooden floor boards. The walls are painted a dark red, but despite the deep-ness of the colour, it doesn't make the room feel gloomy. There's music playing softly out of a large lit-up box in the corner with hundreds of buttons on it.

"I don't see him," Lupin murmurs, looking around. There's a vast age span between the drinkers. It ranges from a large group of 18 year olds gathered at a big, round wooden table next to the bar where more have congregated, and other people the same age as Lupin, who's faces are sculptured with deep lines and harsh angles.

"What if he's not here?"

"He is here," Dumbledore replies. "Don't worry, Remus. He's here."

Lupin opens his mouth to speak, but then someone shouts something from within the rowdy crowd that has his head whipping around so fast he could have given himself whiplash.

"Oi, Jamesy!"

Lupin's heart races, plummeting to the bottom of his stomach. Behind the bar, if he looked with a fleeting glance, is James.

Except it's not _his_ James. This boy is smaller than the average 17 year old, both in height and build. He looks so different yet so similar to the photo he'd seen of the small boy all those years ago in the Quidditch team photo. His hair, as jet black as his fathers, is unruly, messy and curly on top of his head, the fringe covering the hidden scar on his forehead. He moves with the grace of a Quidditch player, complete balance and equilibrium in his steps as he dashes around behind the bar.

At the call of 'Jamesy', Harry looks up from where he's pouring a large glass of something brown (Lupin suspects it's beer - James used to drink it with Lily's Muggle parents), and his face splits into a grin that is so much like his late fathers that Lupin feels like the breath has been knocked out of his lungs.

"Jamesy. . ." He breathes, confusion filling him like a bowl. "He. . . why are they calling him that?"

He looks to where Dumbledore is supposedly sitting and feels a flush of embarrassment and frustration in that he can't see the school Headmaster.

"I have come to a recent understanding that to hide his identity, Harry now goes by Harry James," Dumbledore explains. "He appears to have dropped the Potter surname."

Lupin feels like his insides have gone cold. It's both ingenious and gut-wrenching. He's torn between being angry that Harry chose to change the name that was the last thing connected to his parents, or mourn that his best friends child's only option for solace from this world was changing his identity.

"Harry James," he says. "Harry. . . James. I guess it has a nice ring to it."

He’s almost sure he hears Dumbledore laugh beneath the charm.

"He obviously wasn't as desperate to shed his parents like you thought."

"I didn't—" Lupin starts, but he knows there's no point. He doesn't know how, once again, Dumbledore knows what he was thinking, but there is no time in denying it.

He watches, almost transfixed, as Harry works behind the bar. His laugh rings like a whistle throughout the pub, loud and contagious and so warm. He walks without a weight on his shoulder, a sense of freedom that Lupin hasn't seen in anyone familiar for such a long time. He's oblivious to the impact waiting to fall on him when he's made aware of the catastrophes happening in the world that once chewed him up and spat him back out.

"James, refills please, you lazy tosser," someone calls abruptly. There's a new air to the pub, a giddy taste taking its home. Lupin feels it prickling along his skin.

Harry appears out from behind the bar. His skinny black jeans are tucked into the lips of a pair of beaten up high-top converse. The once white laces and soles now almost as black as the canvas fabric. He has a blood-red and black striped button up shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, revealing the muscles working in the slender, bony wrists to cradle the tray he's carrying of full pint glasses.

"Watch your tongue, Sammy, or this will end up in your lap," Harry replies to the original call from the bulk boy with blonde hair.

'Sammy' grins. "I'm a paying customer. I don't have to take this abuse."

"Then find another friend who works in a pub and will get you free drinks, even though you're so loaded you have notes falling out of your pockets."

"You love our company."

"I love your tips. Speaking of which, I'm not staying tonight after I finish so you'll need to kiss up to Justin if you want to continue cheap drinks."

There's a chorus of whines and groans that Harry flips off before he's wandering back to the bar to serve the already queuing customers there.

Lupin finds himself lost in the thought and realisation of how this is James and Lily's son. This is the boy who defeated Voldemort the first time, who brought momentary peace to the wizarding world, the boy who two of the greatest wizards died for.

Lupin wonders for a moment if what they're doing, or what they're going to do, is wrong. Harry is clearly so imbedded into the Muggle world, so at home and at ease, surely it would be cruel to drag him back into the world that banished him at the fragile age of 12. Lupin hates to think of what has happened to Harry since he left, how he's ended up from his Muggle family's home to living in London.

Lupin is so lost in thought he doesn't notice the figure approaching their table until Dumbledore coughs so low only Lupin hears. He jumps, looks up and feels his lungs deflate.

Harry is looking down at him, smiling.

"Hey," he says, "I noticed you haven't been up to the bar yet. It can be pretty intimidating if you're not a local. Can I get you anything to drink?"

Lupin opens his mouth, but for the first time since his adolescence, he feels lost for words. He stumbles over his tongue in his haste to reply casually. "Uh, no. No, I'm all right. Thank you."

Harry's smile drops slightly and his eyebrows, that are as dark as his hair, furrow inwards. "All right, but the boss doesn't like people sitting in if they don't buy anything."

He leans behind Lupin and snatches a empty glass off another table and puts it down in front of Lupin.

"If anyone else asks, say it was yours. I'll cover it at the till so they don't charge you. At least now it won't look like you haven't bought anything."

"I. . . thank you."

Harry smiles, and Lupin finds himself returning it.

 

Harry leaves the pub after sunset. A little after 11, Harry comes out of the back room with a hoodie and jacket on over the top of his clothes. The other worker behind the counter pats him on the back in regard and he shouts a goodbye to the group of loud teenagers before he's stepping out the door.

"Dumbledore—"

"Let's go."

Lupin gets up at once and follows the teenager outside. Harry is already at the end of the road they came down all those hours ago, turning the corner and out of sight as fast as a shadow.

"Hurry," Lupin urges.

"Do not forget he can see you, Remus. We must not seem like we are following the boy," Dumbledore says, and Lupin has to refrain from biting that they are following the boy.

Back onto the streets that had once been so busy, Lupin and Dumbledore follow a distance behind Harry, who's hood is now up and concealing his head of hair. There is a drizzling wind that adds a chill to the sweltering summers air. The London nightlife is empty on the pavements, not a soul in sight as they walk briskly down past the houses and deserted bus stops. There's an eerie setting to the dark streets, the only source of light being the dim and sometimes flickering streetlights overhead. The only thing to be seen are their two black shadows.

Lupin’s eyes never leave Harry's back while they walk. He finds himself surprised when he sees smoke rise continually from above the moving figure for a period of time and smells the pollutant smell of nicotine, and refuses to believe that James and Lily's son is _smoking_.

They walk for 15 minutes, Lupin and Dumbledore always a pace begins to avoid alarm. Harry leads them to a small court of large flat buildings with a small patch of green grass in the middle and paved paths all along the outside. The buildings are white and several storeys high, with black painted windows panes and slanted roofs. Harry trots up a set of stone steps with black metal railings, the gardens beside flowering and clearly taken care of, and he unlocks the large black-painted front door without a second glance over his shoulder. Lupin doesn't know whether to be relived or concerned by how easy it's been to follow Harry into his home. He is horribly reminded that James would never be so oblivious.

Catching the door before it locks in the latch, Lupin opens the door for him and Dumbledore and heads up the narrow stairs that lead to the second floor. Inside is small and brightly lit by the lights Harry flicked on when he entered. The first floor has three doors and the start of the long staircase leading up. Lupin can see Harry a step ahead of them, following the teenager until they turn into the third floor landing and frowns in confusion.

Harry has vanished.

"Where did he go?" Lupin asks, spinning in a circle. The landing is completely empty, but they didn’t hear any locks or doors opening, so surely Harry couldn’t have gone inside one of the apartments. Lupin looks up through the sliver between the stair cases, up to the higher floors to see if he can see anyone walking up and down.

Nothing.

Where could Harry have gone?

He's a moment away from asking Dumbledore what the hell to do next, when something shifts in the corner of his eye. He looks to the corner of the hallway landing in time to see Harry reveal himself from underneath what appears to be another invisibility cloak. Lupins eye’s widen - he had no idea Harry had one of those.

"Why are you following me?" Harry asks, his cold tone nothing like it was in the pub. Now, it drips with hostility, and his expression is a mixture of masked fear and anger.

Lupin begins to raise his hands in surrender. The fury in Harry’s eyes blaze like green fire.

"Harry—"

"How do you know my name?"

"I. . . I heard someone say it in the pub."

"Bullshit," Harry seethes, stepping forward. "Everyone calls me 'James' in there. Now, tell me why you followed me."

Lupin doesn't reply for a moment and Harry's eyes flick to the empty space beside him.

" _Revelio_ ," he murmurs, and Dumbledore appears in the hallway with a shimmer.

Lupin is surprised in the lack of shock in Harry's expression, which doesn't flick from the intimidating anger it was set for Lupin.

After a moment, Harry's narrow shoulders slouch and his face loses its hostility, replaced with a bone deep exasperation.

"Of course," he murmurs. There’s an edge to his tone, like he’s scolding himself for not expecting his previous headmasters arrival.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore greets with a casual tone, as if he's merely visiting a work colleague. "How are you?"

"What are you doing here, Dumbledore?" Harry asks, ignoring the question completely.

Dumbledore doesn’t appear fazed.

"I thought it was _Professor_ Dumbledore?"

Harry flashes a cold smile. "That would require you still being my professor."

Dumbledore seems to muse in the jab taken at him, and he actually smiles. "Indeed. Now, if you do excuse our possibly rude introduction, would we be able to come into your home and talk to you? There’s something to discuss that I think isn't something we should do in a hallway."

Harry looks between Dumbledore and Lupin for a few moments, his chest rising and falling fast, before he nods stiffly.

"All right. Follow me."

Harry leads them to the top floor on a landing with two doors. He unlocks the closest one, but before he opens it he flashes an almost shy and sheepish glance over his shoulder at the two men behind him.

"I. . . I wasn't expecting company. You'll have to excuse the mess," he admits.

"I'm sure the state of your home is our last concern, Harry," Dumbledore replies.

Harry's face twists in what Lupin can only describe as a grimace before he's twisting the key once more and the door pops open with a soft click. Inside is dark and they stand in the gloomy doorway for a few moments before Harry steps in and flicks a small lamp on, illuminating the hallway they've stepped into to glow a honey yellow.

"Do you, uh, want anything to drink?" Harry asks, evidently trying to be somewhat of a good host. He’s standing awkwardly in the hallway, wringing his hands together like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Lupin wants to reach out and touch his shoulder, to give him a reassuring touch that they’re not enemies, but he doesn’t dare. He has to keep reminding himself that Harry doesn’t know him.

"Water please, Harry," Dumbledore replies.

Harry nods and motions to the door beside him.

"You can go and sit down in there," he says. "Make yourselves at home."

Dumbledore nods and goes into the room while Harry disappears into another, and at a glance Lupin sees Harry standing in the tiniest kitchen he's ever seen.

Lupin follows Dumbledore into a small living room with two mismatched couches and, to Lupins surprise and delight, bookcase after bookcase filled with books. The roof is slanted, the window large and taking up most of the outside wall. There's more books stacked in unsteady piles on the floor against the walls and more, along with dirty mugs and spewed amounts of paper, stacking up on the coffee table. The room is chaotic and whole at the same time, a room that so vividly makes Lupin feel like he's seeing Harry in a room.

"Do you think we’re doing the right thing?" Lupin can’t stop himself from asking. He keeps his voice hushed, to make sure Harry doesn’t hear him from the next room.

Dumbledore, who was looking at the plants on the window sill, turns to Lupin. "I think we’re doing what needs to be done, Remus. Harry is just as much part of this war as we are, and you know as much as anyone that I have kept him out of it as long as I could."

"He isn’t part of this, Dumbledore. He’s as much part of it as the Muggle’s all around us."

Dumbledore sits down on one of the couches with a heavy sigh.

"But he can do more than the Muggles, Remus. Do not forget how powerful he is."

Lupin wants to say he doesn’t _know_ how powerful Harry supposedly is. He’s aware of the events in the child, aware of the power he contained to repel the killing curse when he was a child, but Lupin has never met Harry, and the boy hasn’t been part of the wizarding world since he was 12. Lupin can’t imagine how much power Harry can contain if he hasn’t even been taught anything.

A moment later, the teenager comes in holding two glasses of water and another mug. He hands Dumbledore and Lupin their water before he drops down on one of the couches and sips whatever is in his mug. He's taken off his black coat and is sitting with the black zip up hoodie that is loose and oversized on his frame. His converse are still on his feet, and with his black hair flopping in his eyes, Lupin is reminded how young Harry is.

"So," Harry starts, but instantly he cuts himself off and looks up at Lupin. With genuine curiosity, he softly asks, "Aren't you going to sit down?"

Lupin snaps into action and practically leaps into the sofa beside Dumbledore. Harry watches him intently, and Lupin wonders for a moment if there is any chance Harry might recognise him - but then he realises they never met, that Harry knows nothing of his parents history or their time at Hogwarts.

Harry looks down at his mug, and for a while no one speaks. Dumbledore and Lupin watch Harry, perhaps both unsure of what to say. Lupin wants Dumbledore to spit it out or let them leave. Harry is nothing like the bubbly, bright teenager they saw in the pub. Now, he seems withdrawn, tired like he knows something daunting is coming.

Harry looks up, eyes looking directly into Dumbledores.

"What are you doing here?" He asks. "Tell me straight. No kicking around the bush."

Dumbledore nods. "Voldemort is back, Harry."

Harry huffs a laugh, mouth curling into a bitter smile.

"Shouldn't have expected any different," he says, but the way his voice is hushed and murmured, Lupin suspects he’s speaking more to himself than the room.

"I'm not sure if you're aware what has happened—" Lupin starts, but Harry cuts him off.

"Oh, I know _exactly_ what's happened," he says, and Harry reaches to the table beside him to swipe up a handful of papers. He tosses them down on the messy coffee table between them.

"Where have you been getting those?" Dumbledore asks in surprise as the two men look down at the copies of recent _Daily_ _Prophet_ papers.

"Neighbour upstairs," Harry replies. "Managed to divert them so they come to my door instead. So, yeah, I know what's been happening - or at least, what the Ministry are allowing me to know. Which, by the way," he jabs a finger onto the papers, "utter Merlin _shit_ , this is."

Lupin snorts, shaking his head. "You are definitely James' son."

Harry's head snaps towards him so fast Lupin hears the jolt in his neck.

"What did you. . ." Harry mutters, face suddenly pale. "How do you know my dad?"

"That's for another time," Dumbledore interjects before Lupin can say anything. "We came here to ask for your help, Harry."

Harry finishes the drink in his mug with one large gulp. He shakes his head, "I don't know what you think I can do for you, Dumbledore."

The headmaster leans forward. "Harry, do you remember what we agreed to five years ago?"

At this, Harry seems stiffen. "Yes. I remember."

"We made a deal that I would only seek you out if I absolutely needed to," Dumbledore reveals. "The time has come, Harry. It’s not often I go to people for help, but I am coming to you, on behalf of the Order and the wizarding world."

"I can't help you, Dumbledore," Harry replies. "I left Hogwarts because no one trusted me when I was 12. Why the hell would anyone trust me now?"

Dumbledore takes a minute to reply, but his tone is certain and grave when he finally speaks.

"Because I am afraid," Dumbledore begins, "you are our last hope."

 

— _tbc_.


	3. The Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dark and angsty harry is my fav. don't worry, he warms up later on, but for now he's hostile and it's kinda hot :)

****2

"How did it go?"

Dumbledore and Lupin are barely through the door of number 12 Grimmauld Place when Ron and Hermione are rumbling down the stairs and greeting them.

"Did you find him?" Ron asks.

"Is he all right? Is he coming?" Hermione adds.

"Where is he? What did he say?"

Dumbledore holds his hand up, and instantly, they fall silent.

"We found him, he is fine, and we told him what we needed to tell him," Dumbledore explains.

"Is he coming?" Hermione asks again.

"He didn’t make any promises, but I trust Harry will do what is right," Dumbledore replies, and then he’s gliding through them all and heading towards the kitchen. "Did we miss breakfast?"

Hermione and Ron look to Lupin, faces open and drawn as if waiting for more answers.

"Do you think he’ll come?" Ron asks.

Lupin considers this for a moment before he replies, "I honestly don’t know."

Both the teenagers seem to deflate at that.

"Come on," Lupin adds. "I’m hungry and I’m sure everyone else wants to know what happened."

In the kitchen, almost everyone is there. Molly and Arthur, the twins and Ginny, Tonks and Mad-Eye, Sirius and now Dumbledore, Lupin, Hermione and Ron.

Already, they’re catapulting questions at Dumbledore regarding their meeting with Harry. Dumbledore doesn’t seem fazed anymore than when Hermione and Ron ran at them the moment they came in.

Lupin feels almost drained from the whole experience around London, from seeing Harry and trying to contain all the pent up emotional turmoil inside him at finally meeting James and Lily’s son. He doesn’t know whether deep down he is slightly disappointed in when he met. Harry has come across as just a normal teenager, a Muggle, in a sense. He looks so much like his parents, but in the short time Lupin observed and met him, he acts nothing resembling them at all.

He hopes the front Harry has shown is just that: a front, a guard, a mask. He hopes Harry is truly like the boy they saw in the pub; carefree, happy and kind. He saw James in that boy, saw him in his smile, in his laugh and his confidence. He's torn between wanting to wrap Harry in a fuzzy blanket like a small child and protect him from the world, or screaming at him to stop being such a cold, harsh young man.

"Is he really all right?" Sirius asks, because he can't seem to stop himself. His face, for the first time since he broke out of Azkaban, is vulnerable.

Lupin nods. "He's. . . physically fine."

"Physically?"

"We didn't really speak for that long. He was happy at the pub, he became defensive when me and Dumbledore showed up, but I guess that's to be expected."

"Does he hate us?"

"I didn't get the impression he hates _us_ , I get the impression he's pretty angry at the situation that happened. He seemed mad at Dumbledore, but I guess he hasn't quite forgiven him for kicking him out of Hogwarts over rumours."

"Did he say what happened to him? After he left Hogwarts?"

"No," Lupin shakes his head. "He seems fine, though. Don't worry, Sirius. He's like James, he's tough."

"I hope you're right."

Lupin squeezes Sirius' shoulder. It's the only form of comfort he can give.

"We must continue planning and when Harry is ready, I know he will join us," Dumbledore says, cutting off the others persistent questions, and the sentence ends all discussion and they begin to dive into the depths of the soul problem: Voldemort’s continual rise to power.

 

It takes a few days before anything happens. The Order are gathered in the kitchen again, discussing Voldemort’s latest attack on a small village in the South, when Harry finally appears.

"What did he even want with it?" Sirius asks. "It’s a Muggle village. As far as we’re aware, it has no relation to him or his childhood."

"What about his family?" Tonks asks. "Could it have anything to do with the Gaunt’s?"

"No," Lupin shakes his head. "The Gaunt’s lived near Little Hangleton, in the North."

"Breakfast is ready," Mrs Weasley’s shout travels through the doorway. Reluctantly, the members of the Order make their way into the Grimmauld kitchen that is becoming too small to house all the guests currently staying. The Weasley children and Hermione are sitting down already down, Hermione and Ron looking increasingly annoyed that they had been told by all the adults that aren’t, and will not be, members of the Order and are not allowed to be involved in the discussions.

Sirius, Lupin, Tonks and Bill, who’s come by the Order’s of Dumbledore to help the Order (Charlie remains in Egypt and Percy is still in the Ministry), take seats at the long wooden table as Mrs Weasley levitates plates and dishes of food onto the top.

"Arthur will be home in a minute," Mrs Weasley announces, coming to sit beside the head of the table where Arthur’s place has been saved. She looks down the end, at all of the people eating and spots Dumbledore standing at the other side of the room. "Albus, are you going to sit?"

"I apologise, Molly, but I won’t be staying for food," Dumbledore replies. "I have business in London to attend to. If you don’t mind—"

Dumbledore is cut off by a popping sound, a _whoosh_ , followed by a shriek of surprise and a choking sound.

Harry has Apparated exactly behind George and Tonks. George, who was drinking a mug of tea, snorts it through his nose and chokes, sputtering in panic and surprise, and Tonks screams and jumps so high she falls into Ron and almost knocks him off his chair.

Gasps fill the room. Mrs Weasley has her hand over her heart, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Sirius’ eyes are so large they could budge out of his skull, looking at Harry like a ghost has appeared in front of him. Lupin is frozen, spoon of beans halfway to his mouth and Tonks is trying desperately to catch her breath.

Harry appears completely unfazed to the reactions of his sudden appearance. He looks down at Tonks as she straightens herself before he looks at the rest of the room, eyes instantly finding Dumbledore and staying there. He’s dressed in a pair of skinny black jeans, the same old Converse as before and an oversized navy sweatshirt that appears to swallow his lithe frame whole.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispers, breaking the silence that has settled over the room.

"H. . . H-Harry?" Hermione stammers. Her face is slack with shock and she’s clinging onto Ron’s arm so tight her knuckles are white.

Harry finally tears his eyes away from Dumbledore, following the sound of his name to look at Hermione. His expression doesn’t change, his face clear from emotion and blank with what could be described as boredom.

"Merlin, Harry" George is cursing, clutching his nose. Fred cackles loud beside him. "You scared the life outta me."

"My apologies," Harry says, his tone almost mocking. The warmth has been sucked out of the room, the atmosphere awkward and stifling.

"How did you get in here?" Tonks asks, voice high with hysteria.

"After our meeting in London, I granted Harry a Secret-Keeper so he could enter," Dumbledore explains. He looks to Harry and smiles, "Hello, Harry, nice that you could finally join us. Are you well?"

"Yes," Harry replies. He looks uncomfortable now, his hands disappearing inside the ends of the sleeves as if to hide himself. "You wanted me to come."

"I did," Dumbledore smiles and nods. "Thank you for coming."

"Harry. . ." Hermione murmurs again, still looking as shocked as she had when Harry first appeared.

"Are you still leaving, Dumbledore?" Lupin asks.

"I am," Dumbledore nods. "Harry, please allow Remus, Sirius or Tonks to explain what has happened. Mrs Weasley and Sirius, thank you for your hospitality, I will be back shortly."

And with that, he turns so fast his long cloak flies up like a shadow and then he is gone the same way Harry appeared.

Silence fills the room like water filling a plugged sink. Harry looks around, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Harry—" Sirius starts, but it must daunt on him as he rises in his seat that Harry will have no idea who he is, as he quickly sinks back down.

Harry looks at everyone again, shifting on his feet. His eyes meet Lupins, who nods his head.

"All right, kiddo?" Lupin asks, a sense of hesitance to his voice.

Harry nods in reply, and it’s like a small bit of ice is broken and Molly rises.

"Harry, love, you’re just in time for breakfast. Why don’t you take a seat, you look thin," she fusses, getting up and motioning to the chair between Lupin and Bill. Harry moves silently to the other side of the table, all eyes following him like a spirit floating through the air.

Harry lowers himself into the chair slowly, hesitantly like he’s waiting for Molly to take the invitation back.

"What would you like, Harry?" Molly asks. Still standing and picking up a dish of sausages. "We have toast, cereals, eggs, porridges—"

"Mum, I’m sure Harry is capable of helping himself," Fred interrupts.

Mrs Weasley looks appalled. "But—"

"It’s fine," Harry adds. Molly seems startled at the sound of his voice again, her eyes growing wide. Everyone seems startled in fact, all of them freezing like when he’d first appeared. "Thank you, Mrs Weasley."

Molly stares a few moments longer, and then she nods shakily, putting the dish down and returning to her seat.

All eyes watch as Harry reaches forward and takes a slice of toast from a platter in the middle, and brings it to his mouth for a bite. The tension is released in the room as if the rope has snapped and George ploughs straight through the silence by clicking the end of a sausage at Ron and accidentally hitting Ginny. The room explodes in the familiar Weasley scramble and when Lupin has finished his food, he looks to Sirius and Harry before getting their attention and motioning them to follow him. Sirius, who has finished scraping the tomato sauce of his plate, jumps up eagerly, eyes never leaving Harry, who puts down the half eaten slice of toast without a thought of hesitation and climbs to his feet.

They leave unnoticed, sneaking through the door into the hallway and upstairs to the drawing room. Harry is looking around with obvious curiosity as he follows his Godfather and Lupin up the wide, grand stairs, looking at the row of shrunken house-elf heads, mounted on the wall on plaques. Lupin knows it’s creepy, and sometimes he wonders if Sirius feels the same. He leads them quickly into the first door on the landing, closing it behind them. He mutters _Incendio_ and points his wand at the fire, the dusty tray igniting with flames and blowing a burst of heat into the cold room.

Harry and Sirius take places on separate couches, Harry rubbing his hands together as if he’s cold.

"You’ll have to excuse the temperature," Lupin says. "This house has been empty for years, as you can probably tell by the mess. It will warm up in here soon."

Harry nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. Lupin sits down beside Sirius, and nudges the mans shoulder with his own to stop him from blatantly staring at the younger teen in the room like he has two heads.

"Right, down the business then," Lupin blurts, trying desperately to break the ice in the room. "I’m assuming Dumbledore hasn’t told you anymore than what he told you when we came to visit you at your apartment?"

Harry shakes his head. "No."

"Okay. Well, new news, there has been an attack on a town down South and we are lead to believe it’s another track in Voldemort’s destruction."

"In Maidstone," Harry adds. "Yeah, I’ve heard."

"You heard?" Sirius asks. "How? It hasn’t been in the papers yet. The Ministry are keeping all of Voldemort’s attacks under wraps."

"I know, but knows travels fast in the Muggle world. They can keep Voldemort’s name out of the papers, but they can’t keep destruction of Muggle towns out of the news. They’re stamping it as a terrorist attack."

Lupin’s eyebrows rise. He hadn’t thought about that - of course Harry has heard about these things: he’s been living undercover, not under a rock.

"So you know of the chaos he caused. Muggle’s have died, but we don’t know the reason why. We’ve been trying to figure out the connections between the town and Voldemort’s past, but it’s proving itself to be a challenge."

"Have you considered that maybe it’s not the town itself he was targeting, but someone who lived there?" Harry asks.

Lupin exchanges a glance with Sirius. "No," he says slowly, embarrassment filling his stomach. "We didn’t consider that."

"It makes sense though," Sirius murmurs. "We thought of the Gaunts, but maybe it was someone else."

"Who though?" Lupin thinks aloud. "There’s no one else Voldemort is connected to there."

"That you know off," Harry counters. "You’ll be surprised how easy it is to live under the radar."

Sirius opens his mouth, face pale and eyes sad, when the door opens and a head of blue hair pops around the door.

"Sorry," Tonks says, closing the door behind her and walking further into the room. "You could have told me you were coming up here. Are you telling Harry what’s happened?"

"I was, yes," Lupin replies. "He’s heard though, through Muggle news. We think maybe he could have been looking for someone else."

"It would make sense, unless he was just hungry for some destruction," Tonks says, sitting down beside Harry. "I’m Tonks, by the way."

Harry nods and holds his hand up to shake. "Harry. Nice hair."

Tonk’s smiles, cheeks glowing as pink as her bubblegum mane. "Thank you. I’d say the same, but yours looks like a messy birds nest."

Harry chuckles. "It’s hard to control. Every time I try cutting it it just grows straight back."

"It’s kind of cute, actually. Makes you look younger."

"Makes you look like your father," Sirius adds.

Harry’s head turns forwards to him, the smile gone from his face, lips now turned down. The mention of his father seems to have wrapped a blue demeanour around the teen.

"I wouldn’t know," he murmurs quietly.

Sirius seems taken back by this. "Perhaps I could show you him sometime. We have plenty of photos. I’m—"

"Sirius Black, I’m aware. You were, and still are, all over the _Daily Prophet_."

Sirius seems surprised, and Lupin supposes it should have been obvious, that Harry knows of him. Even in the Muggle world, Sirius was a danger and was published on all media sites. It makes him worried what Harry has read though, as no kind words have been projected in either communities and the impression of Sirius Black is as cursed as Voldemort’s.

"What’s Dumbledore doing about Maidstone?" Harry asks, brushing the previous conversation under the carpet.

"We haven’t decided anything yet," Lupin replies. "We’re trying to figure out what Voldemort wants with the town first."

"So we have no idea what his next move is? What his motive is?"

Lupin shakes his head.

Harry huffs a laugh. "So we’re as clueless as everyone else?"

"If we had all the answers, Voldemort wouldn’t still be out there," Sirius says hotly. "That’s the reason we’re stuck here."

" _We’re_ not stuck here," Harry’s vibrant green eyes darken. " _You’re_ the one stuck here."

Silence fills the room, the atmosphere turning icy cold despite the warming charms Lupin has casted and the flickering flames from the fire.

"We have a map," Tonks blurts. Harry drags his eyes away from Sirius and looks at the woman beside him. "We’ve been plotting the places Voldemort and the Death Eaters have attacked, trying to find his next motive."

"We know his ultimate motive," Lupin says. 

"Yeah, to rule the world like the Dark Lord you’ve all labeled him," Harry adds.

"But, we’re trying to find out his motives now. All these small actions must mean _something_ ," Tonks stresses.

Silence settles over them once more.

"Show me the map," Harry says suddenly. The three Order members exchange looks before Lupin stands, nodding his head for Harry to follow. They go to the table at the other end of the room. The table has nothing on it apart from a large sheet of yellow-tinted parchment.

Lupin hovers his wand above it and says " _Aparecium_ ". Like ink running without a pen, a drawing gradually appears to reveal a map of the world. In different places, dots have been marked on the map with dates above it and small notes illustrating the event happened there.

The dates have gone back as far as Voldemort’s childhood. Recent attacks are marked with crosses instead of dots.

"Blimey," Harry curses, eyes tracing over the parchment. "He’s been busy then."

"The Ministry have managed to keep a lot of it out of the news, in both wizarding and Muggle communities. Fudge is working hard, controlling all news outlets to make sure nothing is revealed."

"How, after all this time, can they not accept that Voldemort is back?"

"Well, no one really knows how or when it happened, the attacks just started happening and sights of Voldemort were reported," Lupin replies.

"Have you actually seen him?"

"Yes. They attacked the Weasley Burrow and Godric’s Hollow. The Weasley family saw him and various Death Eaters in their home before they were able to escape, and me, Dumbledore and Sirius encountered him in Godric’s Hollow."

"What were you doing in Godric’s Hollow?" Harry asks.

"What do you know about Godric’s Hollow?" Lupin counters, and after a long minute of Harry not replying, he adds, "When Sirius escaped, he was hiding there and me and Dumbledore went to retrieve him. Voldemort must have had spies hiding there as well as soon as we got there, so did he."

Harry nods, still not answering Lupin’s first question. He looks back down at the map.

"He’s moving around quickly. According to this, he was in Peru three days ago. The Maidstone attack was only last night."

"Apparation is a wonderful thing," Tonks muses. She climbs to her feet. "So, do you think we can figure out what his next stop is by the previous attacks?"

Harry shrugs one shoulder. "Maybe. We could at least figure out his reasons, if he has any at all."

"Great!" Tonks beams, clapping her hands together. "Anyone hungry? Molly has made the most wonderful coffee cake. Does anyone want any tea too?"

"Just bring a pot, Dora," Lupin replies, lips quirking in a gentle smile. "Thank you."

Tonks touches his shoulder, their eyes meeting for a long moment before she lets herself out of the room.

"Dora?" Harry asks. "I thought her name was Tonks."

"Nymphadora Tonks. Everyone calls her Tonks, though."

"Everyone? You’re just special then, eh?"

Lupin opens his mouth, but Harry’s smile silences him. All of a sudden, Harry, for the first time Lupin has met him, looks his age.

Harry looks down at a watch on his wrist; small, black and cheap.

"Got somewhere to be?"

"Yeah. I have work."

"You’re not staying?"

"No," Harry shakes his head. "I’ll be back tonight though, if I’m needed."

"You are, and you’re always welcome," Lupin can’t stop himself stepping forward and placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He is reminded once again how small the teen is, in height and in size. He’s a head shorter than most 17 year old teens, with narrow shoulders and too much hair. He looks at Lupin with a gaze of surprise, his green eyes wide. "Please, don’t forget that."

Harry seems startled. He nods shakily, stepping back to gather himself.

"I’ll see you this evening," he murmurs, before he’s stepping around Lupin and out the door. They hear the sound of the _woosh_ and gasp. Tonks comes in a moment later.

"Where did Harry go? Is he not staying?"

"No. He’ll be back tomorrow though."

Tonks nods and sets down the tray of cake and tea. "Well, he’s quite. . ."

"Cold? Angry? Nothing like James or Lily?" Sirius snaps. "I don’t know who that boy is, but he is _not_ my Godson."

Lupin’s eyes widen at his friends outburst. "Sirius—"

"There’s something wrong with him, Remus!"

"Well, _obviously!_ " Lupin exclaims, throwing his hands up. "Sirius, that boy has witnessed as much love in his 17 years of life as you have in the whole of yours! We have no idea what he has been through since he left Hogwarts at _12!_ Only 12 and kicked out of the only place he called home! Have you not heard Ron and Hermione? Harry left on bad terms, you can’t expect him to be okay being dragged back into all of this."

Sirius opens his mouth, and then closes it with a click.

"I know it’s frustrating, but we’ll get him to open up soon," Lupin assures. "He’s James’ son after all."

 

Harry does come back. He Apparates into the drawing room just as he had done the morning before in the kitchen. The members of the Order, Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Bill and Arthur, are gathered around the map on the table, discussing the Ministry’s recent attitude towards the Maidstone attack, when there’s the familiar  _swoosh_ behind them and Harry is suddenly standing beside the flicking fire.

He’s dressed in the same clothes as before, except now he has a black canvas bomber jacket on top of the jumper, the collar turned up as if to shield himself from the cold. His hair is as askew and messy as before, his skin pale and cheeks tinted pink.

"Evening," he says shrugging off his coat and draping it over the back of one of the couches. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Dumbledore is smiling. "Not at all. Come, Harry, son, we were just discussing the Ministry’s article about Maidstone."

Harry approaches the table slowly, coming to stand beside Lupin and Tonks.

"Hello, Harry," Arthur says, looking at Harry like a long-lost son. Lupin supposes maybe that’s how he feels.

"Mr Weasley," Harry nods. He looks to Bill and asks Arthur, "One of yours? Are you Bill or Charlie?"

"Bill," the red head replies, frowning in confusion. "How do you—?"

"Ron’s mentioned you before," Harry answers curtly. The ' _before'_ hangs heavy in the air, but no one mentions it. "What has the Ministry published?"

"Take a look yourself," Mad-Eye Moody replies, flipping a paper down on the table. Harry picks it up, flashing him an indecipherable look before reading the paper in his hands.

A minute passes before Harry looks up, dropping the paper with a tired slap. "Well, that’s helpful."

Tonk snorts, blushing and ducking her head a moment later to stifle the laugh. "Sorry," she mouths to those around the table.

"At least they’ve published something," Bill says.

"Yeah, a misleading article that’s making everyone believe the people of Maidstone blew themselves up," Harry replies. "Either the wizarding world is incredibly naive and stupid, or the Ministry are really that desperate the keep Voldemort’s existence under wraps."

"I think both," Sirius says.

"Both communities are being mislead," Moody grumbles, face twisted in its natural scowl.

"You make it sound like you are actually worried about the Muggles," Harry muses.

"I am not. I am worried about the secrecy of the wizarding world," Moody snaps. "Our own people are being manipulated into thinking they are safe and protected when the Ministry don’t even know what they’re protecting them from!"

"This paper is filled with bullshit," Harry replies. It’s true: the Maidstone article was a tiny piece on a random page, not even headlined. It’s only there to address to those who are local enough to know something has happened. Keeping it off the front page keeps it from the people who have no idea anything out of the ordinary happened to the Muggle town. "What exactly are you planning on doing about the Ministry feeding the world lies?"

"There’s nothing we can do, except now we know that the Ministry _are_ aware of the Maidstone attack and that they continue to deny Voldemort’s return."

"I don’t think we should be focusing on the Ministry," Harry says. All eyes at the table turn to him. "What we need to figure out, is Voldemort’s reasons for all of these attacks and why he is targeting these specific places."

"Nicely said, Harry, I completely agree," Dumbledore adds.

They all focus on the map. It takes them hours, but eventually they are able to draw a conclusion to many of the locations of Voldemort’s sightings and attacks. Turns out Garrick Ollivander, one of the most famous wand-makers, was born and raised in Maidstone as a child, so they decide that Voldemort was possibly looking for Ollivander or his heritage - or Harry suggests the more morbid idea that Voldemort was simply doing it to torture Ollivander in a psychotic, sadistic kind of way. They also come to the conclusion that Voldemort paid a visit to Peru because of its snake reputation. Harry reminds them all of Voldemort’s pride companion, Nigini, and tells them not to be so oblivious to the fact that snakes are evidently his most loyal servants.

The evening drags on, and after a few hours Molly slides her head in to tell them dinner is ready. If she’s surprised Harry is there, she doesn’t show it. Arthur, Bill, Lupin and Tonks go down for food, Moody leaves to go home (he refuses to stay) while Harry, Sirius and Dumbledore continue to pour over the map.

Dumbledore leaves while the Order are having dinner downstairs, leaving only Harry and Sirius.

Harry is scrawling out a timeline of events on a piece of parchment when Lupin comes in, carrying a tray of two plates of food and two goblets-like-cups of drink.

"You two never came down for food," he explains as he places the tray on the end of the table. "You should eat. It’s been a long day."

"I ate at work," Harry murmurs, not looking up. He rubs his forehead - something that he’s been doing subtly most of the day.

"I doubt that, and even if you did, you’re thin, you can eat some more," Lupin replies, nudging a plate of Shepards pie towards him. "Find anything else?"

Harry shakes his head, dropping his hand. "Nope. I’m just making a timeline, feel like it will make it easier to lay out the events. The map is great, but my knowledge of Voldemort’s life is not as thorough as yours and I can’t remember it all."

Lupin smiles. "I understand."

Sirius is silent and observing. He's barely spoken to Harry since the teen first arrived that morning. All evening, even when it just the two of them in the drawing room alone, Sirius couldn't bring himself to speak. He didn't know what to say to his Godson, what could possibly mend the gap between them, to build the relationship that should have been formed years and years ago. No one knows what Harry knows of Sirius' imprisonment, but it has been published that he was thrown in Azkaban for 14 years because he practically handed the Potter's over to Voldemort. If Harry knows this, or more likely, believes this, then he isn't hinting anything of the sort.

But Sirius is both desperate and terrified to know what his Godson thinks of him. He wants to know everything about him. Where he's been, what he's done, what he likes and dislikes. They found Harry in London, living alone in an apartment, which makes Sirius wonder where his aunt and uncle are, and how long they have been apart. How long has Harry been alone?

Sirius' mind is overloading, overwhelmed with the prospect that James and Lily's long lost son is sitting right in front of him, his round, thin-rimmed glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, his wild, curly, black hair flopping on his forehead and in his eyes.

Sirius was surprised at Harry's quietness and cold aurora, but also, he's surprised Harry isn't _more_ hostile and silent. As Lupin reminded him before; they have no idea what Harry has been through the past five years since leaving Hogwarts, or what his life was like the 10 years before wizarding school when he lived with Lily's Muggle family.

Sirius doesn't even know if Dumbledore knows where Harry has been these 5 past years. He was only half sure where Harry was in London, and even then, he hasn't been sure with knowledge about that. Sirius isn't even going to attempt to ask Dumbledore, he knows he'll get nothing from the old wizard but a cryptic reply.

Lupin nudges the two bowls closer towards Sirius and Harry, and the older man takes it with a grateful smile. He isn't desperately hungry, but he mostly stayed in the drawing room out of fear of letting Harry out of his sight. It almost feels unreal that he's actually here, in the flesh and bone, and Sirius is embarrassingly worried that if he turns his back Harry will be gone again.

"Harry," Lupin says, and the teen looks up, his round glasses a smidge from falling off his nose. "Please eat something, the timeline can wait."

Sirius is starting to begin a profile of his Godson, and one thing he has certainly noticed, is that when Harry gets focused on something, nothing seems to be able to distract him, not even the temptation of a missed meal.

"Sorry," Harry mumbles, pulling the bowl towards him and taking a mouthful.

"I'm going to miss Molly's cooking," Sirius says around a mouthful. Lupin frowns at him, clearly disgusted, with his tea cup in his hand.

"Where are you going?" Harry asks.

"Well, this is going to be over eventually, isn't it? Eventually we're all going to go home and go back to our independent lives," Sirius replies.

"Will you stay here?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Why? It's not that bad. You just need some heating, and maybe a hoover."

"A what?"

"A clean. It just needs a clean," Harry says.

"I won't be staying here," Sirius repeats.

Harry blinks his eyes wide in surprise at the harshness of Sirius' voice.

"All right. I get it," he says, voice small. "You can't stay here."

Something tightens in Sirius’ chest: of course Harry would know what it like not wanting to stay somewhere.

"Why aren’t you living with your aunt and uncle?" Sirius asks. "You’re only 17."

Harry shifts in his chair, looking down at his uneaten meal. He moves the food around with his fork, never bringing it to his mouth. He quiet for long enough for Sirius and Lupin to exchange a glance.

"I haven’t seen my aunt and uncle in almost six years."

Sirius blinks. "You. . . what? _Why?"_

"I didn’t like living there."

Harry’s reply shoots ice through Sirius’ chest.

"Harry," Lupin begins, leaning forward so his elbows rest on the table. "You’re aunt and uncle didn’t. . . _hurt_ you, did they?"

Harry opens his mouth, and then closes it just as quick. He opens, and closes, and opens, and closes, flapping like a fish out of water. He looks, almost helplessly between Lupin and Sirius.

"Did they _hit_ you?"

"It wasn’t quite _hitting,_ as you say. I just. . . it wasn’t a nice place to live," Harry eventually replies. "People have gone through worse."

There’s a bang and Harry jumps, eyes wide on the spot where Sirius had punched the table.

"It doesn’t matter if people have gone through worse!" He bursts. "It matters that it’s happened to _you_."

"Nothing’s happened—"

"Then why didn’t you go home?"

Harry stops short.

"Privet Drive is not my home," Harry seethes, eyes hard but vulnerable. The green glowing with fear and anger. "It will _never_ be my home."

"Why?"

Harry looks down. "They. . . they just pushed me around some, and Petunia threw things— but she always missed! They shouted things or’d just ignore me, they did that more than anything. And I didn’t like sleeping in the cupboard."

"Sleeping in a—?" Sirius breaks off, dropping his head in his hands.

"Harry, what you’ve described _is_ abuse," Lupin concludes.

Sirius doesn’t lift his head when he asks, "How, in Merlin’s beard, did you fit in a cupboard?"

"Have you seen the size of me? I could  _still_ fit in a cupboard if I had to," Harry replies.

"Which is _why_ you need to finish your ruddy dinner before it goes cold," Lupin stresses, nodding towards the bowl. "Don’t make me bring Molly up here."

Harry rolls his eyes and shovels another mouthful in.

"Harry, what happened to you after you left Hogwarts?" Lupin asks.

Harry looks him in the eye, swallowing his food. "I'm pretty sure you've heard the reason why."

"I want to hear it from you. All of it."

Harry sighs, long and heavy and tired.

"I left Hogwarts, or got kicked out, I'm not quite sure which, because everyone thought I was the Heir to Slytherin and was killing people in order to open the Chamber of Secrets. I got on the Express back to London in the middle of the night, but instead of going back to Surrey to the Dursley's I left Victoria Station and tried to live on my own. I changed my name to Harry James so no one could find me and no one would recognise me. I stayed with a woman who taught me the essential magic I needed to survive. I stayed with her till I was about 16 and I moved into my own flat when I started college."

"That's it?"

"That's all you need to know."

Lupin nods, seeming to accept that he's not going to be getting anything else out of Harry tonight.

Harry rubs his forehead again, eyes crinkling subtly. He lets out a heavy breath, drawing Lupin’s attention.

"Are you all right, Harry?" He asks. "You’ve gone kind of pale."

Harry nods, eyes closed tightly. His face is twisted in a frown, his fingers pressed into his scar.

"Harry—"

The teen lets out a small and quiet whimper, alerting the two males immediately. Sirius jumps up, rounding the table. He crouches in front of Harry, hand on the teens knee.

"Harry, what is it?" He asks. "What’s going on?"

Harry shakes his head. His eyes are clenched closed, his skin suddenly ashen white. "I—I. . . I gotta—"

He begins to get up, shaking visibly. He barely takes three steps before his legs give out and he tumbles to the floor.

"Harry!" Sirius cries, dropping to the floor beside him. Lupin jumps up, crouching beside them.

Harry’s eyes are rolled up. His body is tense and stiff, his lips are moving but no sound is coming out.

Lupin and Sirius exchange glances.

It lasts a minute, and then Harry is letting out a choked breath and suddenly, all the tension floods out of his body and he slumps slack on the floor. His eyes flutter closed and open a moment later. His breath is rushed, as if he’s ran a marathon.

"H-Harry. . ." Sirius stammers, his hands shaking with fright. _What the Merlin just happened?_

"Oh shit," Harry whispers. His hand comes up to rub his forehead again. He blinks twice, then pushes himself shakily into a sitting position with Lupin’s help.

"Harry, what just happened?"

"Voldemort is in a house."

Lupin blinks. "What?"

"I saw it," Harry replies. "It’s huge, like a mansion. He’s sitting at a large dinner table with a bunch of other people. I didn’t. . . I didn’t see their faces but—"

"Harry, what the hell are you on about?" Sirius interrupts. "What was that? What just happened?"

"It happens all the time," Harry replies, nonchalant. "I don’t know what it is, but it’s like I can see things through Voldemort’s eyes."

"Harry. . . that’s insane."

"It’s not," Harry snaps, eyes blazing. "Don’t tell me what I see or don’t see."

"We’re not saying you didn’t see it, Harry," Lupin replies gently. "It’s just. . . when did this start?"

"About two years ago."

"That makes sense," Lupin says after a moment. "That’s when Voldemort was resurrected. You’re minds. . . they must be connected somehow."

"That’s insane," Sirius repeats.

"We’ll need to speak to Dumbledore about this. Harry, does this happen often?"

"Define often," Harry sighs. "Probably once a week, maybe twice. It happens normally when I’m asleep."

"When you’re vulnerable, that also makes sense," Lupin thinks aloud.

Sirius' mind is reeling. His Godson, his young, beaten down and abused Godson, has received more heartache in his short 17 years of life than any other teen Sirius knows ** _,_** and not only that, he also shares his mind with Voldemort and is plagued with the Dark Lords thoughts and visions.

"Is it bad?" Harry asks, voice unnaturally quiet.

Lupin looks at Harry sadly, rubbing his shoulder. "We need to speak to Dumbledore, see what he says."

"Do you have anything to drink?" Harry asks, climbing to his feet. He’s still shaky and pale, and drops down in the chair he’d been in rather heavily.

Sirius points to the liquor cabinet in the corner as him and Lupin also sit down, but then remembering who it is who asked. He opens his mouth to say he'll get Kreacher to get him something from the kitchen when Harry holds up his hand and a blue light appears, glowing bright and luminous, wrapping around his hand and wrist like a growing vine. Sirius eyes widen when a bottle of Whiskey flies out of the cupboard and land directly in Harry's hand, who is looking down at his timeline again. Without a word, he unscrews the bottle and takes a large swig, face straight and concentrated.

Sirius' mouth is open, jaw lax and gaping. Lupin is the same, both men trying to figure out what they just saw; Harry just performed magic without a word _or_ without a wand.

"Harry. . ." Sirius starts, but he can't think of what to say.

Harry looks up, apparently completely oblivious to their surprise. "What now?"

"You. . ."

He looks down at the bottle. "Oh, did you not want me to drink this? I can get something else—"

"No, no, the whiskeys fine, but how. . ."

Harry blinks, and then he seems to finally realise what he's done.

"Oh. Is that. . . is that not normal?" He asks, looking between the two older wizards.

"Wordless spells are possible, but wand-less magic is very unusual," Lupin replies. "How much. . . is that the only thing you can do without a wand?"

"I don't do anything with a wand."

Lupin's eyes widen and Sirius can't believe what's he's hearing. Telekinesis is very unusual in the wizarding world, especially for _all_ spells.

After a long time in silence, Sirius finally says, "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

For the first time, Harry breaks into a full grin.

 

_— tbc._

 


	4. I'm a Desperado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the support so far. you guys are the best <3

********3

Harry doesn't stay at Grimmauld Place like everyone else. The day after he first arrived, he Apparates back to his place in London and doesn't come back for three days. Sirius worries for a long time that Harry isn't coming back, that they'd pocked him too fast and scared him off.

But Harry does come back, just as they're finishing lunch on a muggy and warm Wednesday morning.

He Apparates into the hallway, and a moment later he's walking into the kitchen to greet them.

"Harry!" Molly exclaims from the sink. "Oh, love, you just missed lunch. Can I make you anything?"

"No, Mrs Weasley, I'm fine," Harry replies, flashing a short, small smile.

"Harry—"

"You don’t need to do anything more," Harry insists, smiling again and for longer, though this time it appears forced. "Please, Mrs Weasley, I’m fine."

Molly looks at him for a moment, as does the rest of the room, before she smiles that familiar motherly smile. "All right, love. Have you been at work?"

Harry shifts under the sudden attention directed at him. The kitchen is full, as always now, as Harry has become the centre of attention even more by Molly’s question.

"Uh, no. I was, uh, at college."

"College?"

"Yes," Harry replies slowly, frowning. "Do you. . . do you seriously not know what college is?"

"Tonks, college is like school," Lupin explains. "Remember? It’s for people aged 16 to 19."

Tonks’ cloud of confusion seems to clear. "Oh! Yes! I remember."

Harry chuckles, shaking his head.

"College, eh, Harry?" Arthur asks. "What are you studying?"

Harry is reminded of how curious Arthur Weasley is of the Muggle world.

"Criminology," he reveals, almost shyly. "It’s, uh, interesting."

Arthur opens his mouth, as if to ask another question, but before he can even speak, Mad-Eye Moody is standing beside Harry in the doorway.

"Are you all finished with breakfast?" He asks. They all know 'you' means the Order members.

There’s a chorus of forks clattering on plates and chair legs scraping on the wooden floorboards as they rise from their chairs, following Moody up to the drawing room, where most of the Order business is taking place.

Inside, the room is as cold as it always is. They gather around

"I saw Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mundungus Fletcher yesterday. They’re now up to date with what we’re doing, and under Dumbledore’s orders, are notifying the Ministry that all of us are their allies," Moody announces. "The Ministry are unaware of the Order, but Kingsley has notified us that they are suspicious of our loyalty towards to the Dark Lord."

"We have no loyalty towards him," Tonks says instantly.

"Obviously we ruddy don’t, but the Ministry don’t know that!" Moody growls. "They are disbelieving of every single one of Dumbledore’s actions. It was bad enough when bloody Fudge was in-charge, but now Scrimgeour is doubting him and it’s not helping our plea to being innocent."

"I don’t understand. The Ministry are worried we’re correspondents of Vol—"

" _Harry!_ What have we talked out?!"

"Sorry, sorry, of the Dark Lord," Harry rolls his eyes aggressively, "If we were working with him, why haven’t the Ministry done something about it?"

"They’ve assigned Aurors to watch us," Moody replies. "I saw one outside my home two nights ago, and Kingsley confirmed my suspicions last night."

"Good thing they don’t know about here," Lupin adds.

Harry narrows his eyes. "How do we know we can trust this Kingsley?"

"You are not in a position to doubt a highly paid Auror member," Moody snaps, tone more vicious than normal.

Harry raises an eyebrow, seeming surprised but not intimidated by Moody’s response. "Is that so? I thought you just said that it was Auror’s spying on us?"

"Kingsley is our inside man. He is as loyal to Dumbledore as the rest of us."

Harry’s eyebrow stays risen, but he doesn’t offer anymore. He looks to Sirius, and when the older man nods, Harry seems to let go of his doubts.

"Moody," Lupin interrupts. "What are we going to do about the Ministry to put their worries to rest?"

"Kingsley has assured them that we are not working with the Dark Lord. He’s sworn our loyalty to them, and for now, their minds are at rest."

"So what’s the problem?"

"The problem is that they were suspicious in the first place, which means it has given us a reputation. Not everyone in the Ministry is going to believe Kingsley, and Rufus is always going to watch us now. We have to be careful."

"So the Order is disbanding?" Tonks asks.

"Merlin no," Moody gruff, his glass eye rolling. "Of course not. We’re just going to be even more undercover than we already are."

"Is that seriously why you’ve brought us in here?" Harry asks. "To tell us that we’re going to be working alongside the Ministry while working in secret to them?"

Moody stares at Harry for a long moment, seeming moments away from reaching across the table and beating him black and blue with his wand.

"Dumbledore has sent with request that when the Weasley and Granger children go back to Hogwarts, all members of the Order go back to their normal residency. It has not gone unnoticed that three people," he looks to Lupin, Tonks and Bill, "have vanished from their homes over the summer. Visitations, fine, but you must go back to your jobs and your homes. The only people who will be staying here are Black and Potter."

"Wait," Harry’s eyes widen. "Me? Why is Dumbledore having me stay here?"

"Potter, you are as in secret to the wizarding world as Black is. You’re practically a criminal without a sentence."

"Are you serious?"

"You were not aware of the rumours that went around when Harry Potter disappeared from Hogwarts and the public eye in the dead of night, child."

"Oh, boo-hoo, the _Daily Prophet_ lost their fucking punching bag. Did they not have anything interesting to write about after I’d gone?"

Sirius stifles an obvious chuckle and Moody shifts his glare between the two.

"Dumbledore’s orders, Potter. You stay here."

"I really don’t see the point. The Ministry have no idea where I am, or if I’m even alive still. If they haven’t found me yet, they’re not going to find me soon. I have a job, and college, and a flat to look after."

Moody’s gruff expression doesn’t change. He looks incredibly unimpressed. "Am I supposed to be convinced, Potter?"

"I’m not putting my life on hold to stay at this damn house," Harry practically snarls. "I need something to go back to when all of this is over."

Sirius feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Harry is planning on going back to his Muggle livelihood after this? He shouldn’t have expected any different, but the statement still stings.

"This is not up for discussion. If you want to make a fuss about it, speak to Dumbledore!" Moody roars, spinning around with a wave of his long, leather trench coat and makes his leave without another word.

A moment of silence passes between them all.

"Well, that went well," Tonks says finally.

"I’m going to go and tell dad what’s happened," Bill says, following Moody out. The door falls shut behind him with a soft click.

Harry lets out a long breath before he sinks into the sofa, rubbing his hands over his eyes. They look bloodshot and tired, and Lupin frowns down at the skinny teen.

"Do you think he was serious about Dumbledore making me stay here?"

Tonks sits down on the sofa opposite him. "He sounded pretty adamant, but I’m sure Dumbledore won’t mind you going to work and college." 

Harry lets out a groan, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"Can I smoke in here?"

Sirius blinks. "Smoke?"

"Yeah. Cigarettes. They're these small rolled bits of paper with filters and tobacco in them that-"

"I know what a cigarette is," Sirius interrupts. "I. . . I just. . ."

"You can say no," Harry murmurs. "I only asked out of decency."

Sirius swallows audibly. "I-- yes. Yes, you can. . . you can smoke in here."

Harry nods and doesn't hesitate a moment to pull out his jacket pocket and place one between his lips. He ignited the end with a lighter, the paper and tobacco crinkle as they catch a flame. Harry inhales as he pockets the box and stands up, going to the window and opening it a crack. He sits on the ledge, his thin limbs folding up so he fits like a small child. He exhales the smoke that rushes instantly out the window and flicks the tip to rid the loose ash.

"I'm assuming you've had the talk about the dangers of smoking?" Lupin asks.

Harry looks over at him. "Of course I have. More than once, from more than one person."

"Hasn't out you off then?" Sirius asks. His arms are folded across his chest and he stares at Harry with intense eyes.

Harry shrugs. "I think we're all aware there are more and worse things in the world that would harm me than smoking."

Sirius feels the tightness in his chest constrict more - of course Harry thinks that. He's the root to Voldemort's rage and strife for power. The Muggle world is dangerous enough, let alone the possibilities of the wizarding one.

Harry looks at the watch on his wrist. "I need to go soon."

"College?"

"No, shift at the pub."

"Do they know you’re underage there?" Lupin asks abruptly.

"Yeah," Harry grins at them all. "My boss is a friend of a friend. He gave me a job out of a favour. Besides, I’m 18 next year."

"In 11 months, Harry," Sirius deadpans.

Harry looks at him with narrowed eyes. "How do you know when my birthday is?"

They still haven’t broached the subject to Harry about their relationship to his parents and their involvement in his short childhood at home. Harry isn’t even aware how close they were to the Potter’s, both in school and after, and they are unaware of how much Harry knows about them - if he knows _anything_.

They also haven’t told Harry about Sirius being his Godfather.

"You’re Harry Potter," Tonks scoffs. "Everyone knows when your birthday is."

Harry frowns and shifts uncomfortably where he’s sitting. "I don’t like that."

"It’s the price you pay for being _famous!"_

"I didn’t ask to be famous," Harry mumbles.

"People adore you."

Harry looks sharply at Tonks and raises an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

Tonks holds her hands up in surrender. "They do! You’re The Boy Who Lived! You’re a sensation, a legend!"

"A legend who got kicked out of Hogwarts for being a rumoured Slytherin Heir."

"Yeah. . . but that was proven wrong."

"Fab. Glad they got that fucking cleared up," Harry spits, tossing his cigarette out the window and jumping up. "I’m going. I’ll be back later."

And with that, he Disapparates on the spot and is gone.

 

When the Weasley children and Hermione go back to Hogwarts for their 7th year, Mad-Eye’s announcement takes place: Arthur, Molly and Bill go back to the Burrow, Tonks to her house and Lupin to his cottage. The only people at 12 Grimmauld Place now is Sirius and Harry, who’s accepted Dumbledore’s request into staying at the Black House permanently and only leaving for work shifts - which he’s had to cut down - and college classes. The teenager is quiet and reserved, but with the house emptier and now quieter itself, Sirius thinks he can see Harry physically becoming more comfortable: his shoulders aren’t so tense and hunched, his jaw isn’t permanently clenched tightly shut, his green eyes aren’t so closed off. Apart from Lupin, Tonks or Moody’s occasional appearance for updates, it’s the two of them and Sirius is waiting for the right moment to speak to the brewing teen about all the things he should have been able to say years before.

Living with Harry is strange, though. Living in home is still strange enough, after 13 years in Azkaban prison, he’s still not used to the home life. It doesn’t help that he is literally confined to the home he once ran away from, which is filled with his family memories and his screaming mothers portrait, not to mention Kreacher - whom even after five years of living with Sirius again, the two refuse to get along. Yet, living with Harry is stranger than when he was living alone. The company, despite how quiet and silent he is, doesn’t feel _that_ strange after a whole summer of having such a large community of people filtering in and one of the house, Grimmauld Place becoming like a revolving door for the past months. But whenever Harry walks in the room, Sirius can’t shake off the feeling that Harry, his long-lost Godson, is standing beside him like a stranger.

Sirius has learned things about Harry after living with him for a few weeks. For one, the teen is an evident, and kind of a worrying, insomniac. Many times Sirius has woken in the night to the sound of Harry moving about, either along the corridors or in the kitchen. Sirius sleeps in the spare room on the first floor, as he has done since he arrived after Dumbledore made Grimmauld the base for the Order. He hasn’t dared to venture any further upstairs to the other bedrooms - including his own from when he was a teenager. He knows the others have, since Molly had herself and the children cleaning every room they could reach. He knows they didn’t go to the top floor - where his and Regulus’ bedrooms are - as Sirius had put it somewhat harshly that those rooms were more than off limits, but they cleaned every other room during their stay over the summer.

By staying in the spare room on the first floor, and after spending so many years in Azkaban, Sirius is a light sleeper and hears every footstep or creak outside the bedroom door, so when Harry wanders the corridors or adventures into the upper floors, Sirius knows. He wonders if Harry is looking for something, seeking an object or a room, if he’s curious or just bored and seeking amusement. He doesn’t ask, but he does mention to Harry one morning over breakfast how he knows Harry isn’t sleeping. All Harry replies with is, "I’m fine. I don’t sleep well, it’s nothing to worry about. Sorry, I won’t wake you again."

Sirius tries to stress that he’s not mad at Harry, but the teen refuses to reply with anything but an apology and a shake off Sirius’ concern. He doesn’t ask, but he hasn’t seen Harry have anymore of the 'visions' he had in front of him and Lupin. If Harry does, he doesn’t mention it at least.

Another thing Sirius has noticed, is Harry’s love for books. He’s pretty sure Harry has been sleeping in the library more often than in the room Sirius offered him. Not often does Sirius see Harry, when they’re not working on some plan for the Order, walking around without a book. Something warm and proud swells inside of him when he realises Harry’s love for books and literature, despite his childhood, has not been diminished and reigns as strongly as his mothers had. Sirius has a strong memory of Lily Potter’s love for books, her adoration for fiction and stories - something she never managed to get James into.

Sirius also notices Harry’s habits. While the lingering smell of tobacco smoke gave a lear illusion, Sirius is still surprised when he sees Harry sitting on the window sill the day after he arrived for his permanent residency with a book in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the window open a fraction to allow the toxic smoke out. Sirius doesn’t know if Harry’s habit of forgetting to eat comes from his smoking or from whatever upbringing he had, but while Sirius is at fault for it himself, it frustrates him when he finds that Harry will go all day without eating a thing. The first time it happened, he found Harry downstairs in the basement kitchen at 10 at night, making some toast on the grill because he was hungry. Sirius then had realised that not only had Harry not eaten, he also hadn’t thought of using Kreacher. Harry admitted to not growing up with a house elf, and told Sirius that the idea of using someone as a servant made him sick to his stomach. "Kreacher is also kind of a dick," he added, which made Sirius laugh harder than he had in years.

They don’t always work on business for the Order, and when they’re not, Harry is either reading, smoking or out at work and college. Sirius finds himself often board, and being in his old home makes him jittery and unsettled. He often finds himself walking around, not daring to explore too deeply into the rooms or their possessions. His past is still raw and unhealed. He’s not ready to dig up those bones yet.

Despite it only being a few weeks into September, the weather has taken a violent turn. One night, hail and rail pound against the windows like fists. Wind howls through the house like banshee wails, creating drafts in the hallways and slamming doors abruptly. The house isn’t any colder than it is naturally, but the dim weather makes it damp and miserable, so Sirius finds himself sleeping in the drawing room on one of the sofas, the fire roaring to emit light and heat into the room.

Sirius is on the sofa he’s inhabited as his temporary bed, a blanket covering his body and staring at the flickering flames in the grill, wondering if he’s too late to speak to Remus through the Floo Network, when the door opens. He looks up in time to see Harry close the door again. The teen is dressed in a pair of baggy sweatpants, the cuffs tucked into some oversized wool socks that are falling off his feet. He looks almost humorously like a house elf, with his ragged old jumper with the holes in the sleeves and his unkempt hair. He nods in silent greeting and takes leisure on the sofa opposite Sirius.

"It’s too cold to be downstairs," he replies. "You don’t have a fire in the library."

"No," Sirius muses. "We don’t. Are you cold? I can grab you a spare blanket."

"It’s fine. The fire is enough. I’m always cold anyway."

Sirius nods and watches for a moment as Harry gets settled on the sofa, reclining back so he’s facing the fire like Sirius is, legs curled up and book in his lap.

"What are you reading?"

Harry looks up. "It’s a Muggle fiction book called _Nineteen-Eighty-Four_."

"Never heard of it."

Harry chuckles softly. "Would have been surprised if you had."

"You know, your mother was brought up in a Muggle home," Sirius says.

Harry is quiet for a long moment.

"No. No, I. . . uh, didn’t know that," he stammers.

"How much do you know about your parents, Harry?"

"Not a lot. Only that they died when I was young when Volde— You-Know-Who came into our home," Harry replies, chewing his lip. "My aunt and uncle had me believe when I was younger they died in a car crash. It was quite a surprise when Hagrid broke the news that they didn’t."

"They _what?"_

Harry nods, not looking up from his hands. "How did. . . how did you know my parents? You and Lupin, you both act like you know them very well."

"I met your father on the Hogwarts Express when I was 11, going to Hogwarts for the very first time. We sat in the same carriage, much like Ron has told me you and him did. We both got sorted in Griffindor, as did Lupin, where we met your mother. She was a wonderful girl, but she hated us all, your father included."

Harry’s eyes widen. "She _hated_ you?"

"Oh, yes. Your father was hilarious, and smart, and popular, but he was also kind of an ass," Sirius explains. "We were rebels, I guess you could say. Class clowns. Your father was one of the best friends I ever had, him and Lupin. My family. . . how much do you know about the first war?"

"Not much. Enough to know the generals of what happened."

Sirius hums. "My family, being Slytherin, were Death Eaters. Black was a name that supported _him_ in his plans and beliefs. I was a rarity, an abomination to the family because not only was I Gryffindor, but I also didn’t support a single thing they did. Even before the war, I was unwelcome in my own home. You’ve seen the Tapestry upstairs, my name was burned out when I ran away."

"You ran away?"

"When I was sixteen. I’d had enough, so I went to stay with your father," Sirius says. "His parents accepted me like a second son. I camped out at your fathers during holidays and the summer but when I turned 17, I got my own place with some gold an uncle had left me."

Harry’s book is closed in his lap now, and Sirius knows from his hardened eyes and expression that he has the teenagers full attention.

"Your parents were exceptional people," Sirius continues. "They. . . there was an uproar when they died. Not only because of the revelation that you survived, but because they were Lily and James Potter, and they were probably the last people anyone expected to die in that war."

"But they did die," Harry says. "They died, and they left me."

Fury burns through Sirius like a firework. He sits up abruptly.

"You fool," he spits. "Your parents are _heroes_ , they were the strongest, bravest people I have ever met. Don’t you _dare_ degrade them like that."

Harry’s eyes are wide but not with fear, instead with anger to match the older mans.

"Degrade them?" He laughs harshly. "Bloody _hell_. I have every right to be fucking angry. They could have ran, they could have fought! I’ve had the dreams, I’ve seen the memory. They didn’t even fight back! They just stood there! They stood there, and they let Voldemort kill them and try to kill me!"

There are tears in Harry’s eyes, glistening blindingly in the reflection of the fire.

"They gave me a legacy I didn’t ask for, took away the childhood I never got," he whispers.

"Harry. . ." Sirius murmurs, voice unnaturally soft. He doesn’t know what to say, how to convince Harry everything he’s feeling is irrational, untrue.

"I’m sorry," the teenager says. "I. . . I know it’s wrong. I know it’s wrong to think like that, that they died up against the darkest wizard of time. It just fucking sucks."

"I know," Sirius replies. "Parents suck."

Harry chokes a laugh. "I wish I knew them. People have only ever said incredible things about them, but my only memory of them is green lights and screaming.

Sirius’ chest clenches. Harry doesn’t deserve his only memory of his parents to be their deaths.

"There’s photo albums upstairs. Tomorrow, in the morning, I’ll get them down. You can see them, see their faces."

Harry nods. "I. . . I’d like that."

Sirius swallows thickly. Now they’ve begun talking, he can resist the questions and wonders that have been plaguing him for weeks.

"Harry, what do you know about my arrest?"

"Probably not the truth," Harry replies. "Apparently you were the reason for my parents deaths, and that you killed a group of Muggles in the middle of a street, and that you spent 13 years in Azkaban prison before you broke out."

Sirius nods. "Sounds about right."

"But it’s not right, is it?"

"No. It most certainly is not," Sirius replies. "What makes you predict that?"

"Because Dumbledore wouldn’t have you here if you were a Death Eater that killed my parents," Harry says, very matter-of-factly. "I can’t say I’m a huge fan of the Headmaster, but he hasn’t done anything too stupid yet, so I trust his judgement. So, no, I don’t believe what the papers say about you."

Sirius nods. "That’s. . . that’s good to know."

"So what did happen?"

When Sirius has finished explaining, not forgetting to include that Peter was disguised as Ron’s rat for years and years, Harry’s eyes are wider than saucers on his thin, bony face.

After, all he says is, "Well, shit."

"Indeed," Sirius nods. "You need to know, Harry, and I need to know you know, that I would never done anything to harm your parents. I owed them more than my life for everything they’d done for me before they died. And when Peter did what he did, the guilt could have killed me."

"It wasn’t your fault," Harry says without hesitation. "You couldn’t have known."

Sirius opens his mouth, but Harry’s hand flies up in a blur and he cuts him off before the older man can croak out a sound.

"I know you’ve probably heard it plenty enough from the Order and Lupin, but now you’re hearing it from me: it wasn’t your fault what Peter did."

Something in Sirius’ chest snaps and blossoms like a flower, spreading heat through him.

"Harry, I. . . I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, but when you were born, your parents made me your Godfather."

Harry bites his lip. "I know. I was told when your escape made the papers."

Sirius opens his mouth, but quickly closes it again.

"Who told you?"

"The woman I stayed with after Hogwarts. She didn’t believe a word the _Daily Prophet_ published. Told me there was more to my parents death than the knowledge the public were fed. That was another reason I let go the title you got of killing my parents."

"Who. . ." the question he’s been dying to ask can’t be contained anymore. He feels like an impulsive teenager again. "What _happened_ after Hogwarts?"

Harry lets out a long breath, as if he’d been expecting the question for a long time - no doubt he was. He looks away for a long minute, and when he looks back at Sirius, his expression is empty.

"When I got off the train at London," he begins. "I just. . . I just got up and walked out like everyone else. I. . . I think I was on the streets for about three weeks, maybe just over. I was so _distraught_ and crushed about leaving Hogwarts that I’m pretty sure I spent the entire first week just sleeping, crying and shivering from the cold. I’d left in March, y’see. It was fucking cold on them streets. I spent a lot of the time wandering around, trying to keep warm by staying active, something I remembered a teacher at Primary school telling me on the playground during break time."

He breaks off for a moment, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses.

"I ended up staying with this group of other homeless people for a few nights. I’d been walking for almost 14 hours straight, I was so hungry and so cold and I stumbled into this alley, and I just remember seeing the fire pit down the end. All the fear, all the caution and lessons they teach you in school about strangers just flew out of my head. I remember just wanting to get warm, damn the consequences. So I walked towards it, and there was this group of about four sitting around it, a woman and a man wrapped in a blanket together, another laying down, eyes closed and sleeping, and a man in this huge, dirty parka coat smoking a cigarette. His name was Steve, and he took one look at me before he handed me a blanket and told me to get warm. I ended up falling asleep against him, and he let me curl inside his jacket too - perks for being small for your age, I guess. They’d thought I was a lost child at first. I stayed with them for. . . it must have been three or four days. One of the girls, Julie, came back one night with a whole takeout she’d managed to pity someone into buying her. I could have kissed her— I think I did. The only thing I’d eaten between Hogwarts and then had been some stale bread out of a rubbish bin. They were a good group. Funny, kind. Steve offered me some heroine one night to help calm me down. I remember refusing but taking a drag, of what I later found out was weed, from Julie— _that_ did help me calm down. The next morning we were chased out of the alley by the owner of the restaurant beside it. I lost Steve that morning, I lost all of them and I couldn’t find them for days so in the end I guess I stopped looking.

"I went off on my own again. I stole from shops for food, learned to pick-pocket people on the streets for wallets and rummaged through dustbins. I couldn’t use magic, because I was underage and I knew that, and despite knowing that I still kept my wand in my backpack, and I held onto it at night like some fucking child with a teddy bear. I was out there for exactly 24 days before I was chased and cornered from a man I’d stolen a wallet from. He’d gotten me down this alley, had me by the throat, when this woman came running down. At first I just thought she was going to scream and try to push him off, but then there was this flash of light and he crumbled like wet cardboard on the floor. She’d stunned him, and I was so surprised that I didn’t even move when she grabbed my wrist and Apparated us to her house.

"It was only then that I’d realised what the hell had happened. I almost blew up her kitchen accidentally I was so scared. She managed to calm me down eventually, introduced herself as Tammy, said she’d seen me around a few times and eventually managed to recognise me. She told me she knew my parents, and I was so desperate by that point for some fucking stability that I guess I just took her word for it.

"It was probably the best thing I’ve ever done. She was. . . well, she was the mother I never had, I suppose. Trusting wasn’t exactly my strong suit, especially not after everything that’d happened, but she was amazing. She gave the most amazing hugs. She let me change my name, forged the forms to say she was my legal guardian so I could start school in the city. I grew up as a Muggle, I guess, like I had with the Dursley’s. I went to Muggle school, hung out with Muggle kids, stayed with Muggle families for sleepovers. I didn’t touch my wand, still haven’t— not since I left Hogwarts. Tammy did magic at home, told me how to do spells and bought me books to read about Wizarding magic and history. She got the _Daily Prophet_ papers so I could keep in the loop, said I was 'too important' not to know what was happening.

"I was 14 when I started using magic without a wand or words. I’d always managed to do things before. Even before Hogwarts, there were always these small, inexplainable incidents. But when I turned 14, it all seemed to amplify. I’d explode windows when I got angry, wish for a drink only to have one fly into my head moments later. Tammy told me I needed to learn to control it before it got out of my containment or before I hurt someone. It wasn’t easy. I couldn’t figure it out for a long time. I couldn’t understand was triggered it, how to stop it, how to contain it. I did, though, and when I did, it felt good. I finally felt like I’d accomplished something. Tammy told me I could do use magic like that as much as I wanted before I was of age too, because I wasn’t using my wand, and therefore it wasn’t traceable. I remember staying up at night, sitting in my room in the pitch black, creating this single flame in the middle of my palm. It was like this mix between peace and power."

Harry breaks off, letting out a heavy, long breath. He closes his eyes for a moment, biting his lip. He opens them again, looking up from his lap.

"I stayed with Tammy till I was 16," he continues. "She was a journalist, wrote for various companies, reviewing all sorts of things. She talked about how she wanted to move to America, 'the best place to be', according to her. She was from there, her whole family born and bred in the States. She’d come over for her husband, but apparently he died before I moved in with her. I always felt there was going to be a time when our little family image was going to fade, and when I turned 16, she was just turning 40, and I guess I didn’t want her to lose anymore time on me. So, when I got into college, I told her I was going to move out. I’d had a job for a few years, saved up some. She hooked me with an old friend of her who’d give me a discount on my rent. She was sad I was moving out, but I felt she was more of a big sister than a mother by that point.

He shrugs one shoulder. "So, I moved out. I started college with a bunch of friends that I made in school, and everything, for once, was good," Harry finishes, finally looking up. He flashes Sirius a smile, "Sorry. That was. . . it was probably a lot to take it."

Sirius nods, letting out a rush of breath. "You haven’t had it easy, have you, kid?"

Harry snorts. "Bad things happen to bad people, Sirius."

The older mans smile drops.

"No," he says, voice grave and stoney. "No, Harry. You’re not. . . you’re a good person that bad things have happened to."

Harry smiles, swallowing audibly as if over a lump. Sirius feels the same, like he could choke on the emotion sitting in his throat.

"It’s nice that you think that."

"I don’t think it, I believe it, Harry. You have had it hard from the get-go but you’re still here, and you are the most amazing teenage boy I have met. You’re more than a teenage boy, you’re so wise and old and—"

"Did you just call me _old?"_

"— I’m trying to— blimey," Sirius sighs, shaking his head. He struggles to find his words. "Just don’t beat yourself up, Harry. You’re doing fine."

The three simple words seem to hit Harry harder than everything else Sirius said. He blinks hard, looking down at his hands again.

"Uh, t-thanks. Thank you, Sirius," Harry stammers. "You’re. . . you’re doing fine too."

 

A while later into the evening, in the small hours of the morning, Lupin comes in. The room is lit by only the fire that is still burning brightly in the middle of the room, casting a warm, homely glow that bounces off the walls, the shadows flickering and dancing on the wall paper. The room, unlike the rest of the house, is now warmed and cosy, the curtains drawn shut and the sound of crackling fire blocking out the howling storm beyond the window glass.

Sirius sits on the couch facing the door, and looks up from the book he’s reading when Lupin walks in.

"Hey, I was— what?" He cuts himself off when Sirius holds a finger to his mouth, silently telling him to shh. "What is it?"

Sirius’ eyes flicker to the sofa opposite him, and Lupin walks further into the room enough to see what’s there.

Harry is curled up, cradled between the cushions on the back and on the arm. His knees are drawn up, arms curled into his chest, head pillowed on a cushion. He looks so small, so peaceful, eyes closed and breath even, his hair spread out like a dark halo.

"How long. . .?"

"About 20 minutes," Sirius replies, looking at Harry. "He dropped off earlier too, but he woke up, kind of. . . jumped awake."

"Nightmare?"

"Possibly. He rarely sleeps as it is. Reminds me of how young he is, when he’s asleep like that."

"He reminds me of a cat, curled up like that," Lupin replies, coming to sit down next to Sirius. "I remember James doing that. He could fall asleep anywhere."

"He certainly didn’t look as peaceful as that," Sirius adds, chuckling for a moment. He tears his eyes away from the sleeping teen and looks at the wolf beside him. "We managed to talk."

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"Everything. He knows now, about us at Hogwarts, about his parents, about my being his Godfather."

"That’s. . . good, right? He took it well?"

"Do you think he’d still be here if he didn’t?" Sirius quips. "He told me some things earlier, about what happened after he left Hogwarts."

Lupin swallows thickly. Judging by Sirius’ tone, he expects it wasn’t the most pleasant of stories. "Well?"

"It’s not good," Sirius admits. "Even before he got kicked out. He’s had it hard his whole life. You know the Dursley’s practically abused him, and then Hogwarts threw him out like trash. He lived on the streets, Remus, the _streets_ , for almost a _month_. He was sleeping in alleyways and stealing food. I can’t— imagine what James and Lily would have thought, if they’d know we allowed that to happen to their son!"

"Don’t think like that, Sirius. We can’t think like that, it’s not healthy."

"What he’s been through isn’t healthy, Remus!" Sirius almost shouts. "You should have heard him, heard the way he was speaking. He— he sounded like he believed he _deserved_ it, this he wasn’t worth anything more than the homeless junkies he stayed with."

"He’s been through a lot," Remus tries to justify. "We can’t expect him to be emotionally fine after all of that. I can’t imagine how he felt, what it was like to do what he had to do. What happened after? How did he get off the streets?"

"He said someone called Tammy picked him up."

"Tammy?"

"He didn’t elaborate on her, only that she was a witch, she was from America and she’d come over here to be with her husband but he’d died a while before. She knew him though— Harry, that is. He said she recognised him."

"Of course she recognised him. People all around the world know who Harry is and what happened. People will know for years," Remus sighs. "All things considering, what he’s been through and what he’s seen, I guess I imagined him to be worse."

"Worse?"

"At first, I didn’t think I could ever see James in him, even see the boy I knew as a baby. He was so different, so defensive and cold," Remus sighs, long and slow and heavy. He looks at the sleeping teen opposite him, where the shadows from the fire caress his hollow cheeks and sharp bones. "I haven’t spent much time alone with him, but I feel like I’m already seeing beneath the mask. He’s strong, Sirius. Emotionally, mentally, magically. He’s stronger than he knows, and I have no worries about him surviving this because he’s already survived so many hardships."

"My childhood was so awful, and I promised James when him and Lily made me Harry’s Godfather that I would never let Harry go through what I went through, never let him have anything less than the safe, happy childhood he deserved," Sirius is looking down at his lap now. "And I broke that promise."

"You couldn’t have done anything, Sirius, and you know that. It’s too easy to blame yourself, just as it is easy to blame the Dursley’s or Hogwarts for what happened. But picking blame isn’t going to help, it isn’t going to fix what’s already happened. What we can do now, is show Harry that not everyone in life, in the magical world, is bad. We need to to show him that _he_ isn’t bad."

Sirius’ face is pained, open and vulnerable and sad. Remus wants to reach out, to hold his best friend like he has done so many times since they met in Hogwarts all those years ago.

Sirius nods, swallowing audibly and looking down at the closed book in his lap. He puts it on the table, slumping back into the sofa cushions.

"I told Dumbledore about the visions he has," Lupin says.

"Good. He hasn't had anymore though, or at least, I haven't seen anymore."

"I suppose that's good. It didn't seem like it was a pleasant experience."

"What do you think it means?"

Remus sighs, shaking his head. "I don't know. Dumbledore said he's going to think on it, try and figure out why it's happening. He told me to tell him if he has anymore, or if they get any worse."

Sirius nods, watching with a soft gaze over the sleeping teenager.

"Does he know about. . . y'know, our. . . our--"

"Spit it out."

"You _know_ , does he know--"

"About your furry problem and my furry ability?"

Lupin closes his eyes. "If you _must_ put it like that."

"I must."

"Then yes. Fine. Does he know about _that_?"

Sirius, smiling, shaking his head. "I don't think so. He hasn't heard it from me."

Lupin hums, rubbing his eyes.

"Tired, Moony?"

"Just a tad. I forgot what it's like working at Hogwarts."

"It's only been four years," Sirius teases. "I don't know why you agreed to go back."

"Dumbledore asked me to, and it's not like I have any other work. Plus, I can keep an eye on the Weasley children. I know Molly is worried about Bill being part of the Order, and with Charlie coming over soon too, at least if I'm at Hogwarts she doesn't need to worry about Ron, the twins and Ginny too."

"How very noble of you."

Sirius reaches out and places a hand on Lupin's knee, causing the man to finally raise his head.

"You look exhausted."

"That time of the month, isn't it?"

Sirius smiles softly. "Are you staying the night?"

"Do you mind?"

"Don't be a fool," Sirius replies.

 

_— tbc._


	5. Skin of Your Teeth

****4

For a few weeks, everything goes quiet. The dust has begun to settle, there is no more news on Voldemort's whereabouts, no more destroyed villages or rioting towns. Voldemort has completely dropped off the grid, leaving no more trails or assumptions to his next move.

The Order have less gatherings, without Voldemort or the Death Eaters giving them anymore bait, they have nothing major to discuss that involves them all coming together. Lupin still visits, Tonks occasionally drops by for dinner. Arthur Weasley visits a few times with pamper baskets from Molly, admitting the woman claims she knows what Sirius is like and if Harry is anything like his Godfather, neither of them are very good at taking care of themselves.

Harry reads through books like his life depends on it. Every other night, he has a different book in his hands, completely emerged in the pages. He'll curl up in the strangest of places, always balled up small like a literal child, his skinny, bony limbs folded like cardboard, knobbly knees to his chest and arms curled between with a book in his hands, his round glasses tipping off the end of his nose. Sirius finds this fascinating and oddly satisfying.

Lupin goes through a full moon. Sirius worries sick for days on end, then when Remus turns up, sick, pale and shaky, they finally reveal to Harry the truth.

Him and Sirius are in the kitchen on a clear October night, spooning out the last of some vegetable soup that was in the hamper Arthur dropped off from Molly the night before. Harry has his nose buried in a book, to which he explained to Sirius is called _Birdsong_ and is a fictional book about the First World War, while the older man is finishing off the buttered bread Harry prepared. The teenager has refused to use Kreacher for food since he arrived, saying that the idea of having someone do mediocre things like that for him made him uncomfortable, and also that he was certain Kreacher wouldn't poison his food out of spite.

Harry is drinking a glass of water when there's the tale-tale sound of someone Apparating outside the kitchen. The pair exchange a glance, but they have no time to react before the door flies open and someone literally falls through.

Sirius is on his feet in a millisecond. Remus is sprawled out in the floor, shaking and sweating. While it's proven itself to be normal during the full moon, it doesn't make Sirius any less anxious. He seems to have become more sensitive to things like this since coming out of Azkaban.

"Lupin?!" Harry cries behind him, falling to his knees beside Sirius barely a moment after him. "Lupin?"

When Remus doesn't reply with nothing but a grunt, Harry looks up at Sirius with wide, young eyes.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's sick."

Harry opens and closes his mouth, apparently slapped silent with shock. "Well, _fucking_ obviously! Wait. . ." Harry narrows his eyes. "Why don't you seem more surprised?"

"I'm f-fine, Harry," Lupin chokes, but Harry focuses on him in a second, green eyes razor sharp.

"No, you bloody not! Do not lie to me!" He snaps. "What's going on? What's wrong with you?"

Lupin looks to Sirius. It takes a long time for him to say anything, and when he does, he just says:

"Have you ever heard of lycanthropy, Harry?"

There is no easy way to admit to someone you're a werewolf, but that certainly is _not_ the way.

Harry's expression doesn't change. It doesn't flicker, it doesn't falter for even a moment. His eyes are wide, calculating and hard. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, jaw clenched so tight his teeth are practically grinding against one another.

The room settles with a thick and suffocating silence. They're a mocking image: three men on the floor, one sprawled out, two crouched on the balls of their feet, all staring at each other like each has lost their minds.

Eventually, Harry speaks.

"Are you for real?"

Lupin swallows. He looks relieved and disappointed at the same time. "Yes."

Harry stares for another long moment, his jaw not loosening an inch.

Suddenly, all the tension flows out of him and he drops his head, letting out the longest, heaviest sigh Lupin has heard come from a teenager.

He rubs the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "Jesus," he breathes. "My life is a fucking joke."

Lupin snorts, chuckling breathlessly. "You and me both, kiddo."

Harry looks up. "Are you being serious? You're a werewolf?"

Lupin swallows thickly again. Sirius squeezes his shoulder; a reassuring touch, a reminder that he isn't alone in this.

"Would it make a difference if I was?" Remus asks.

"It would mean you have a lot of fucking explaining to do," Harry replies.

Lupin nods shakily. "I will."

"But first I think you need something to drink, and maybe something to eat. Have we told you you look like shit, or did we miss that?"

Lupin smiles, "I think we may have missed that."

"Right. Well, you look like utter shit. Seriously. Absolute crap."

Lupin can't help but laugh, and Sirius lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

They get Lupin into a chair. Harry gets to making him a sandwich with some bread and ham from the hamper while Sirius fetches the first aid kit.

"I need to get back to Hogwarts," Lupin mutters as Harry comes back in, plate, glass and a wet cloth in his hands. "Snape has some potions, they help."

Sirius takes the cloth from Harry. "I don't understand how you can trust him."

"I don't, but he's my only option, isn't he? I need the potions, and he hasn't poisoned me yet."

"Underline that 'yet', Moony," Sirius says.

Harry puts down the plate.

"Ah, thank you, Harry," Lupin goes straight for the water and downs it.

"Why did he just call you 'Moony'?"

Lupin and Sirius look at the teen.

"It's a nickname, Harry. One I've had since my years at Hogwarts, since I was your age," Lupin smiles, "I suppose it makes sense now, huh?"

Harry hums. "I suppose it does," he says tensely. "Is it the same nickname as 'Padfoot'?"

Sirius pauses in his progress of wiping the damp cloth across Lupin's face.

"If Moony means werewolf," Harry asks, still not sitting down, "what does 'Padfoot' mean?"

"We have a lot to explain."

"I gathered that."

Sirius puts down the cloth with a weak hand. "I don’t know where to start."

"From the beginning, perhaps," Harry says, slowly lowering himself into one of the dining chairs.

"All right," Sirius replies. "The beginning."

 

It takes them three hours to explain everything. From Lupin’s attack as a child that turned him into a werewolf, to the discovery of James, Peter and Sirius’ animagus abilities, to Peter’s part in Harry’s parents murder 16 years ago.

Throughout the entire story, Harry sits. His face is a still image of a mask, he's closed off, his emotions locked away as they speak. His eyes, as bright and normally scream the way he's feeling more than anything, are locked off, the shutters pulled and blinds tightly shut. He sits at the end of the table, facing the two adult wizards, hands unseeable in his lap. The oversized jumper he slept in the night before and hasn't yet changed out of hangs limply on his narrow shoulders, revealing the prominent swell of his collar bone.

When Lupin finishes explaining, Harry is silent fora long minute. He swallows, he fiddles with a thread on his chewed sleeves, he looks everywhere but the two men in front of him.

Dread sits like stones in Sirius' stomach. What was Harry thinking? Was he ashamed? Was he afraid? Disgusted? Angry?

He audibly swallows, and his eyes slowly rise to meet.

"I had no idea. . . " his voice shakes," I haven't believed it was you for a long time, but I never knew. . ."

Sirius reaches across the table and takes one of Harry's hands, surprised to find the cold hand trembling slightly.

"Ron's rat. . ."

"Yeah," Lupin sighs. "We figured it was him after Sirius arrived at Hogwarts. Scampers, as he was believed to be at the time, went bezerk. When Ron came to me with Hermione complaining that his rat has gone missing, it suddenly clicked to me."

"But he got away."

"Yes, he got away. As far as we know, he's with Voldemort now."

Harry stares for a moment longer before he abruptly stands, the chair legs screeching against the ancient wooden floor.

"Wait here."

He sweeps out of the room without another words. Sirius looks to Lupin.

"What do you think. . .?"

"I have no clue."

Harry returns minutes later, raven black hair flopping on his forehead, panting and red-cheeked from exertion. He's carrying a thin, leather bound photo album that Sirius remembers being hidden in the dark depths underneath his bed in his bedroom upstairs. His heart hammers, his stomach swoops with anxiety: Harry's been in his room.

Harry seems highly nonchalant about this. He sits down again, flips the album open and flicks to a page rapidly. He pauses suddenly, eyes on the page. He spins the book and points, "This. Is this Peter?"

It is. Harry has landed on a photograph, one of few Sirius actually kept in this book, that has Sirius, Peter, James and Lupin at Hogwarts during their last year. They look so different, yet so similar.

Lupin nods, but Sirius still can't move.

"I saw him," Harry says. "In my visions, he's always there. He's with Voldemort-- he's alive."

Lupin leans back in his chair. "I'm not surprised."

Harry looks back down at the book, turning it so the page is facing him. His eyes scan the photo, but Sirius can see his gaze always lands on the same place: his father.

"Have you seen many photos of your parents, Harry?" Lupin asks softly, apparently suspecting the same thing.

Harry shakes his head. "No. There was none at the Dursley's. Hagrid gave me a photo album in my first year of them, but I left it behind-- forgot it, really. I left a lot of things behind."

"We can get it back."

Harry shakes his head. "It's not mine. It was Hagrid’s."

"I'm sure Hagrid wouldn't mind if you have it back," Lupin assures.

Harry doesn't reply. He keeps looking down at the book.

"I'm sorry, by the way," he says later, when it's just the two of them, Lupin having gone back to Hogwarts for some potions from Snape. They're in the drawing room again, curtains drawn shut, fire slowly dying as dawn approaches but neither of them have made an effort to sleep. "F-for going in your room. I was exploring, I had no idea what it was until I'd already gone it. And after that. . . I felt like I couldn't just leave."

Sirius shakes his head. "It's fine."

"It's not, and I'm sorry," Harry repeats. "I may have been raised on the streets, but I have manors."

Sirius huffs a laugh.

"I had no right to go in there," Harry murmurs, "nor go through your things, it was an invasion of privacy."

"It was, but it's fine. That. . . everything in that room feels like a lifetime ago. I don't want to go in there, but at the same time I don't want it to be forgotten. You can go in there, after all, some of your fathers things are probably in there too."

"I found a letter from my mother," Harry admits softly. "It's torn, but I can read most of it."

"Have you got it?"

Harry nods. He reaches into the pocket of his old work-mans jacket that looks like a hand-me-down from a charity store (Sirius wouldn't be surprised if it was) and pulls out the familiar folded parchment Lily wrote to him all those years ago.

"I don’t remember the broomstick," Harry says, smiling slightly as he looks down at the parchment.

"I remember getting that letter," Sirius replies. "I was so happy the present went down well. That was in the height of the first war, you’re parents had gone into hiding with you and as you saw in the letter, your father absolutely loathed it."

"I wish I knew them," Harry murmurs, still not looking up. "She seems so nice in this letter."

"Your mother was the nicest woman I’d ever met, Harry. There was no one like her, no one purer and warmer and gentler than Lily," Sirius says. "You’re father was the luckiest man for meeting her."

Harry purses his lips and finally looks up. He waves the parchment. "Can I. . . can I keep this?"

Sirius smiles. "Of course."

"Hmm," Harry hums, glancing down at the letter again. "She called you Padfoot."

"It was a nickname from the Marauders," Sirius replies. "Your mother knew them all too."

"Do you think I could see you, one day, as. . ." Harry waves a hand around.

"As a dog?"

Harry shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing in a frown. "I didn't want to say dog. Now all I can imagine is a fluffy Spaniel jumping around."

Sirius laughs, "I assure you I look nothing like a 'fluffy Spaniel'."

Harry grins, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

"But, yes," Sirius continues. "I'd love to show you, Harry."

"I'd love to turn into an animal," Harry muses, leaning back against the sofa cushions, watching the dying flames in the fire grill.

"What animal would you want to be?"

"A bird," Harry answers after a length of consideration. He looks to Sirius, his face so open and comfortable and relaxed. He has no walls up, no mask or guard or blinds. He's open and vulnerable, as he should be able to feel around his Godfather.

"A bird?" Sirius repeats.

Harry nods. "Nothing was more exhilarating than flying my broom. I'd love to be able to just fly away."

"That sounds similar to running away from the problem."

Harry's lips quirk up in a colourless smile.

"We all run away from our problems, Sirius," he says tonelessly. "And don’t ruin this. We were finally talking about something that isn’t about death or childhood trauma. Did you have to go and spoil it?"

Sirius smirks. "My apologies, Harry. Do mind my cynicalness."

Harry rolls his eyes, but the mood has lifted.

 

The Order gather a few days later. Harry leaves in the morning for college before Sirius has even roused. The date gives Sirius goosebumps: it's Hallowe'en.

He's in the kitchen, almost lunch time, trying to find something to eat for a belated breakfast when Tonks, Mad-Eye, Lupin, Arthur and his two eldest children Apparate’s in.

"Ah," he drawls. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Morning, Sirius," Mad-Eye grunts as he hobbles loudly into the kitchen, going straight for the open bottle of Whiskey that was left there from the night before (Sirius suspects Harry was down here into the small hours and forgot to put it away).

"Hey," Tonks smiles, all tooth, her bubblegum pink hair bouncing on her shoulders. Lupin sulks in behind her, smiling in greeting.

Sirius sees Arthur, Bill and another red-head - clearly a Weasley - by the door.

"Arthur. Bill. And you must be Charlie."

He nods. Charlie is far shorter than Bill, who is tall and lean. Instead, Charlie is stocky and muscled, clearly the sibling who works outdoors. Sirius only knows from Molly and Arthur’s explanations of their second oldest son that Charlie works with dragons, which explains the blisters and callouses on his hands. "I am," he says. "Sirius, I presume?"

They shake hands, Charlie’s strong and warm. He smiles, genuine and a spitting image of his father.

"Charlie recently got back from Romania. With all the chaos happening, his section has sent him home," Arthur explains.

"It’s very kind of you to help us, Charlie," Tonks says.

Sirius looks around at them all. "Why are you all here?"

"A lot has happened in the past few weeks that you are not aware of," Moody replies, staggering out of the kitchen. They all follow, knowing where he’s going. "Where is Potter?"

"College."

"Is that a guess?"

"It’s an answer," Sirius replies snappishly.

In the drawing room, they circle around the map table.

 

Harry sighs as he exits the _Black Brew_. It's been a long day; with college classes from nine and a shift at the pub from four till ten, he can feel the weight of the days fatigue sitting heavily on his shoulders. He shrugs on his jacket, folding up the collar against the winter wind.

It's been a confusing few months. Harry's world has expanded once more, and everything he thought he knew about his parents has been pried apart and shifted. It turns out, he'd come to realise bitterly, that he knew almost nothing at all about his parents and their deaths.

He walks through the empty streets of night London like he has done so many times before. He grew up his most memorable years in the city, and can easily consider himself a city-kid now. He'd owled Tammy using Sirius' owl a few days ago and was pleased when he got a reply that morning telling him Tammy was safe, well and in Sacramento state writing articles for a story her publicist was following. She told him in her letter that she was worried for him, and that she missed him and thinks about him all the time. She told him to not isolate himself, to use the people around him to help him stay steady. It stung Harry when he read it, because all the advise she gave was of all the things she'd softened and taught him when she took him in. She taught him that not everyone has bad intentions, that not every story has a bad ending or every person has to suffer alone. Oh, how he wanted to Apparates beside her and let her arms envelope him like they had done all those times before. He wanted to curl into her like a small child, like when they first met and she told him she was going to protect him like he guardian he never had. He wanted to hear her cackle of a laugh, the feeling of home he always had when he was with her.

But Tammy wasn't home, for Harry didn't really have a home. Everywhere so far has been temporary: the Privet Drive, Hogwarts, Tammy's, Grimmauld. Even people - Dursley's, Ron and Hermione, Dumbledore, Tammy, Sirius - it's all been temporary, they've all had things to move onto after him. Harry is never a finish line, he's a pit stop and he realised a long time that isn't going to change.

The sheet of used parchment burns a hole in his jacket pocket, folded and stored beside his mother's torn letter to Sirius. He walks down the street with his head ducked, eyes on his scruffy Converse covered feet as they step quickly on the uneven and cracked sidewalk. For someone so short - and frequently reminded of it - Harry takes pride in how fast he can walk and how quick he can run. The wind slams into him, freezing him to the muscle and bone. His canvas work-mans jacket that Tammy had got him from a charity shop (she always loved second hand things and would spend hours sitting with Harry creating marvellous stories to where the objects or clothing have been, who they've been cared by and what their history is) does nothing to break the chill from the weather. He pulls his hood up, hoping it will keep the unruly strands of his hair out of his face. It feels weird and wrong passing his normal turning. He hasn't been to his apartment in weeks and has long since moved the majority of his immediate belongings into Grimmauld. Truth be told Harry didn't need a lot: just his books, his college work and some clothes.

He continues down the wide street, passing more dark houses and empty alley ways. The wind is howling, a tail end of a storm rioting its way through the London maze. Harry knows he could Apparate into the house like he has done so many times, but he often tries to avoid it as much as he can. Even when he learnt it, and even after knowing how to do it for years, Harry still isn't a huge fan of the sensation it comes with. He'd much rather face the wind and bells and walk his way to Grimmauld.

He turns the final corner before he finds himself on the familiar street, the invisible house appearring within a blink, like someone has drawn back the curtain keeping it hidden. He climbs the steps and walks straight through the door.

He's barely taken two steps into the uncomfortable - but familiar - chill of the house before Mad-Eye Moody is appearing in front of him. The tip of his wand is inches from Harry's face in a blink, his face contorted in the shadows.

"Holy shit," Harry breathes in surprise, blinking. The end of the wand is practically skimming the ball of his eye. He steps back, looking accusingly at Moody. "Do you fucking mind?"

"What were we discussing when we first met?"

"Excuse me?"

"Answer the question!"

"Fuck— the papers, okay? The papers the Ministry where publishing. Will you get your wand out of my fucking face now?"

Moody's eyes stare at him a moment longer, his wand firm but shaking in his face. As quick as it came, the hand holding the wand drops and Moody steps back.

"Mind telling me what the hell that was?"

"Had to make sure it was you."

"Are you shitting me?" Harry curses blandly. He's flustered from being attacked as soon as he stepped into the door, and slightly annoyed about it. "Last time I checked, is it only Secret-Keepers who can find this place, let alone get in."

"We are in a war that has no room for assumptions."

For the first time, Harry notices the rest of the Order. Sirius and Lupin are at the bottom of the stairs, Tonks and the Weasley's are the top, all watching them with cautious eyes. 

"Where were you today?" Moody asks, dragging Harry's attention away from the other presence watching them.

"College, work," Harry lists sharply. He inclines an eyebrow, "Am I not allowed?"

Moody's face twists even more into a scowl, so tight it looks painful. He turns around with a grunt and limps away, his bum leg making him look like a troll. Harry lets out a heavy breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Sagging against the door frame. He rubs his eyes, feeling a headache beginning to brew in his temples. He pushes off the wall, following Moody to the bottom of the stairs where Sirius and Lupin are still standing, walking him approach.

"Are you all right?" Sirius asks.

Harry nods. "Yeah. Just been a long day. Is that going to happen every time I come in?"

"It's just a precaution, recent events have called for paranoia," Lupin explains. "I think he was also extra suspicious because you came through the front door."

"It's not the first time I’ve come through the front door."

"It's the first time he's been here," Lupin flashes him a sympathetic smile. "Look, you'll have to excuse Moody. He's a paranoid git, but he means well."

Harry nods and the three of them join the rest of the Order in the drawing room.

"I didn’t know you were all coming today," Harry says as they gather around the table as normal.

"Neither did I," Sirius mutters, and Harry has to duck his head to hide his smile.

"What's the update then?" Harry asks. "Why _are_ you all here?"

"There has been an outbreak at Azkaban," Moody replies. "10 Death Eaters were broken out last night and the Demetors are slacking in their duties."

Harry nods, "This is exactly what Dumbledore presumed would happen, he always said the Dementors were loyal to Voldemort more than the Ministry. Who was broken out?"

Moody lists ten Death Eaters, but the one name that rings in Harry’s ears like a tunnel echo is Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Bellatrix?" He repeats, looking at Sirius. "You’re cousin, Bellatrix?"

Sirius nods gravely.

Harry barks a dark laugh. "Well, ain’t that bloody peachy!"

"This is no time for jokes, Potter," Moody barks. "Ten of the most loyal and dangerous Death Eaters have been set loose, and Dumbledore and Black are getting the blame!"

"The _what_?"

"Have you not read the papers, boy?"

Harry rolls his eyes and looks to his Godfather.

"The Ministry is blaming Black because of his family ties to the Lestrange’s and the still standing rumours of his 'loyalty' to Voldemort," Lupin explains. "They’re also pointing fingers at Dumbledore for his claims of Sirius' innocence."

Harry rubs the bridge of his nose. There’s a brewing for a thrumming headache beginning to form between his eyes.

"So, what does this mean?" Harry asks. "What’s going to happen now?"

"Dumbledore wants complete vigilance. He wants you to go out as little as possible, because there has been sightings of Dementors all across the country and at the moment, your existence and location is still under wraps," Moody says.

"Fabulous," Harry sighs.

"You just have to be careful, Harry. Try not to go anywhere alone," Lupin adds.

"If my location is unknown, if my 'existence' is unknown, then how would they find me anyway?"

"You’ll be surprised what they can find, Harry," Arthur replies. "Just because you’ve been under the radar since you left Hogwarts doesn’t mean Voldemort isn’t looking for you still."

Tonks sighs heavily. "Almost no where is going to be safe soon."

Suddenly, Harry feels the familiar thrum in his skull. It pulsates from his forehead, pounding with the beat of his heart, getting stronger by the second. He shifts on his feet, his body feeling alive like an electricity wire. He rubs his forehead as the pain spikes like a needle. He feels his breath quicken, his chest tightening. He knows what happening, and when his vision begins to ting black with dancing spots, he feels the panic flood through him.

 _Dammit_ , he thinks. _Not now. Not in front of everyone._

The visions have been worse than they have in a long time, but over the past couple of weeks it's only effected his dreams. He's managed to keep them all under wraps, all of them secret from Sirius and the Order. He has a bad feeling he can't hide this one.

Someone is talking, he doesn't know who now, but suddenly, it's so loud. There's a buzzing in his ears, a high-pitched noise like a siren. It's getting louder, filling his head. His vision bleeds black, then white, the pain refusing to reseed. He closes his eyes, can feel the world swaying and spinning behind his lids. The sensation makes him feel sick, like he's standing at a great height and looking down.

He steps back from the table, the need to get away overpowering him - from what, he doesn't know. The room spins, the pain spikes. He feels the blood drain from his face, his mouth going dry as if he's going to pass out. His vision trips, Voldemort appears in front of his eyes for a second so short but so clear.

Pain seers through him suddenly and his breath is stolen. He thinks he hears himself whimper, but suddenly his legs are too weak and he barely has the strength to stumble before the floor is rising to meet him.

His forehead explodes and Voldemort is in front of him before he hits the carpet.

 

"Dumbledore has got the most protective wards on the castle. It is by far the safest place at the moment and Voldemort would be foolish to even approach it," Moody says.

"There is word, though," Arthur adds, "that the dementors in Azkaban are not as controlled as they once where. If Voldemort was able to break 10 of the most heavily guarded Death Eaters out, the Dementors must be swaying towards his team."

"That would make sense for them to start leaning away from authority now," Lupin says. "But as long as Dumbledore is at Hogwarts, there is no where safer. The kids will be fine, Arthur."

"I don't think that will— you all right, Harry?"

As Lupin looks across, he sees the literal blood drain from Harry’s face. His lips, naturally a subtle pink, turn a lifeless grey within seconds. Before his very eyes, he see’s Harry skin turn ashen and white, so rapidly it’s as if he’s being drained by a vampire. He sways, eyes clenched shut. His hand is cupping his forehead again, his scar— Lupin remembers.

"Harry," he says, but the teenager is gone, unhearing of him. He stumbles away from the table, now drawing everyones attention. Sirius has barely taken a step to follow him when Harry lets out a choked sound, stumbling, his knee’s folding like decking chairs. He hits the ground hard, shaking and trembling before Sirius and Lupin are even at his side.

Tonks lets out a scream, Moody and Arthur fly to their feet in surprise. The room is filled with shouts.

It’s not like last time. Lupin barely has a moment to catch his breath before Harry is screaming, high and piercing and pain-filled. He’s seizing, muscles locked and body thrashing like he’s in some invisible hold. They all recognise it instantly: the Cruciatus Curse.

The screams turn into whimpers, into cries and whines before they fold back into screaming. Sirius has Harry’s head in his lap, stroking his hair and muttering to him under his breath, so quiet that only the two of them can hear.

Tonks and the Weasley children are freaking out, Moody and Arthur looking for whoever could be casting a Cruciatus Curse into the room. Lupin is too scared for Harry to tell them what is happening yet. This is so unlike last time, so much more _real_.

"You’re all right, Harry," Sirius is whispering like some mad manta. "You’re okay. We’re here."

Harry’s head is twitching in his hands, eyes rolling frantically under the half shut lids, the whites almost glowing against his ivory skin. He looks corpse-like, with his eyes suddenly sunken and bruised, lips blood-less and cracked. His hands are balled, knuckles white from the exertion of keeping them clenched so tightly. His arms and legs are kicking and thrashing, fighting to get away from the pain invisibly coursing through his body.

It goes on for what feels like forever before Harry finally stops, and it stops like a siren being shut off. His screaming ends with a crack in his voice, leaving his panting shallow, raspy breaths. His body relaxes, flopping limply on the floorboards. His head lolls in Sirius’ hands. His eyes stay shut for a moment before the lids twitch, eye lashes fluttering over his cheekbones. They open and reveal fever-like hazed green eyes, distant and unfocused.

"Harry," Sirius murmurs softly. "Harry, kid. Come on."

Harry lets out a weak cough. Lupin notices him shivering, from pain or cold, he doesn’t know. There’s a dotting of sweat on his forehead, his skin still as pale as a ghosts.

"What in Merlin’s grave was that?" Moody growls. "What. Was. That!"

"Merlin’s Beard, Harry! Are you all right?" Arthur asks, almost as breathless with shock as Lupin.

"Ollivander," the teen croaks, eyes slowly coming to focus as they look up at Sirius. "H-he has Ollivander."

"Who? Voldemort?" Sirius asks, and no one misses the flinches Tonks and the Weasley’s shudder at the name.

Harry nods shakily. "He. . . he’s looking for a wand. He cursed Ollivander—"

"The Cruciatus Curse," Lupin nods. He lets out a heavy breath. "That is some serious magic, kid. Are you all right?"

"I feel like I’ve just been electrocuted a hundred times over and run down by a few buses, but yeah, fucking peachy," Harry replies, his voice too weak to hold any heat.

"Does anyone mind explaining what the _hell_ just happened?" Tonks curses loudly, voice as high as a scream.

"Harry has visions," Sirius answers shortly. He looks down to Harry, who looks exhausted and worn out. "Harry, this time you were Ollivander?"

Harry nods, eyes closing. "Yeah. That’s. . . that’s only happened a few times."

"When else has it happened?"

"Not for a long time."

"All right," Lupin starts, "Let’s get you up. Sirius, the sofa. I’ll get some water."

Sirius nods and before anyone can protest, he’s standing and scooping Harry into his arms like an infant. Harry flops limply, head lolling against the older mans shoulder. The combination of his lack of height and weight make him resemble a child more than a teenager man in Sirius’ arms.

"Siri. . ." Harry mumbles in futile protest.

He lays Harry down on the sofa, brushing his sweat-soaked hair off his pasty forehead. The action is so father-like it startles them both.

"Merlin, Harry," Bill says, finally moving away from the table where him and Charlie had been frozen. "You gave us a bloody scare doing that."

Harry huffs a laugh, "Sorry."

Lupin comes back in, a moment later followed by Moody - whom no one even noticed had left despite his loud, clanking movements.

"I’ve sent a Patronus to Albus," Moody thunders. "Will someone now explain to me what just happened?"

"In a minute," Lupin replies, handing Harry the water. "We’ll explain when Dumbledore gets here."

"How fast can he surely—" Harry starts, but he can’t finish the sentence before Dumbledore is appearing at the face of the fire, his robes fluttering as he speeds into the room in a single swoop. Without looking around, he instantly finds Harry, gliding towards the sofa. He crouches down, face drawn tight and thin with seriousness.

"Harry," he demands, "What did you see?"

Harry blinks, clearly struck by the appearance of his ex-headmaster.

"Ollivander," he chokes out, voice still scraped raw. "He’s with Voldemort. He used the Cruciatus Curse on him, he wanted this wand. . . I don’t. . ."

"What wand?"

"I can’t remember."

"Think, Harry," Dumbledore demands. "What was the wand called?"

Harry shakes his head. "I can’t remember. I didn’t hear much, just Voldemort calling him by his name and demanding ’The wand’."

"Albus," Moody interrupts, "I think you know what wand he was talking about."

"Yes," Dumbledore says gravely. "Yes, I do."

"Would anybody like to explain what has happened in the last 10 minutes?" Tonks asks.

"I’ll explain," Lupin says, getting to his feet. He guides the rest of the room back to the table and, in a hushed voice, tells them about Harry’s ability.

"Harry, I want you to tell me everything you saw, in as much detail as you can remember," Dumbledore goes on.

Sirius is sitting by Harry’s head, looking between his old headmaster and his Godson.

Harry swallows thickly. "It was dark. I couldn’t see much. I was on the floor, Voldemort was standing over me. It was just us, I couldn’t see or hear anyone else. It looked dirty, underground, maybe a dungeon."

"A dungeon?" Sirius repeats.

"Anything else?" Dumbledore presses.

"No," Harry replies. "Dumbledore, what is an Elder Wand?"

Dumbledore sits back on the other sofa. "Have you ever heard of the Deathly Hallows, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry nods. "The Peverell brothers. The three Hallows; the resurrection stones, the invisibility cloak and— oh. . ."

Dumbledore smiles. "You remember, then?"

"Yes. The Elder wand is it is said to be the most powerful wand that has ever existed, able to perform tremendous feats of magic that would normally be considered impossible even by the most skilled wizard."

"That is correct," Dumbledore nods. "If Voldemort is looking for the Elder Wand, that is not good."

"I kind of gathered that when Voldemort cursed Ollivander," Harry sighs. He rubs his eyes, still pale as a paper sheet. He begins to sit up, shaking slightly, and sets the glass down on the floor. "Has there been any word of Ollivander’s whereabouts recently?"

"Since his shop closed in Diagon Alley he’s gone off the radar, as many wizards and shopkeepers have," Lupin explains. "People are living in fear. No one wants to be in headlines."

"So, it’s highly likely that the Death Eaters were in Maidstone looking for Ollivander," Harry says. "Do you think he got Ollivander from there?"

"It’s hard to tell," Lupin considers. "The whole town was blown to smithereens. There’s nothing left."

"How helpful," Harry mutters, pushing himself to his feet.

Sirius leaps up, grabbing him by the biceps when he sways.

"Harry, you should—"

"Don’t," Harry replies instantly, shaking his Godfather off. This time, he stands steadily. "We finally have something, so we need to figure the rest out."

"Actually, Harry," Dumbledore says, catching the teenagers attention. "May you speak with me outside?"

Harry nods slowly, rising from the sofa cautiously. He meets his Godfather's eyes, and nods in reassurance that it's okay. He follows his ex-headmaster out into the cool, dingy and dark hallway of Grimmauld's first floor.

"Harry, son," Dumbledore begins, and Harry manages to suppress the urge to flinch at the word 'son'. There is bad blood between them now, raw wounds that have yet to scar. Dumbledore didn't throw Harry out of Hogwarts, but he allowed the rumours to spread, allowed Harry to feel so compelled to believe his only option was to leave.

"I want to explain to you why I think you're having these visions. How much do you know about what happened to your parents?"

"Not a lot," Harry admits. He slouches against the wall, his body aching with exhaustion and fatigue. The vision took everything out of him, the remains of the curse still drumming through him like a pulse. "Sirius and Lupin have filled me in some since I've got here. I know enough now to be able to say Sirius didn't help Voldemort, but Peter Pettigrew did, and that everyone was at war with him apart from the Death Eaters, and he came to kill me and my parents."

"None of that is incorrect," Dumbledore nods, "but there is so much more to it. You see, Harry, Lord Voldemort has sought to destroy you since you were merely an infant, you were, and you still are, Tom Riddles most dangerous enemy."

"I don't understand," Harry admits, voice and chest heavy. "I don't understand _why_."

"There is a prophecy, it's contents held in the Ministy of Magic, that binds you and Voldemort in the most unkind of ways," Dumbledore explains.

"A prophecy?" Harry frowns. "No one has ever mentioned a prophecy."

"No, I don't suppose they have," Dumbledore murmurs, and Harry detects some mixture of guilt, pity and sadness in his tone. For what reason, Harry has no idea. "Voldemort came to Godric's Hollow the night of the 31st seeking you out, Harry, because the prophecy made before your birth claimed that the one born as the seventh month dies will be marked as the Dark Lords equal and will have the power to vanquish the him.

"Voldemort doesn't know the details of the prophecy. He knew it had been made, and he set out to kill you as a baby because he believed he was fulfilling the terms. After killing your parents, he cursed you with the killing curse, but to his discovery, he was mistaken and the curse intended to kill you backfired on him.

"And so, since he has regained power and form, he has become more and more determined to hear that prophecy and it's contents. That, what I fear, is what he has been truly seeking all this time: the knowledge of how to destroy you."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Voldemort has made it his life's mission for the last 17 years to kill Harry with the undefined assumption that Harry, a fucking _infant_ at the time, had the power to destroy him. And not only that, it's taken them 17 years to tell him.

"What does this have to do with the visions?" Harry asks. He can't - nor does he want to - think about the prophecy and how he's basically been born with a large target on his back.

"You and Lord Voldemort have been connected in realms of magic so far that he has wrapped your destinies together more securely than two wizards ever have in history. When Voldemort's curse rebounded in him, he was destroyed and the fragment of soul residing within him was forced to flee. He existed in only a piece of his soul, weak and almost powerless. In his attempt to murder you, Voldemort unintentionally embedded a piece of his soul, and therefore his own abilities, into you. This is why you can speak Parselmouth, a trait that Voldemort inherited from a former Slytherin relative. Voldemort's fail to kill you and the addition of his soul in you marked you as his equal. You developed the Parselmouth trait, but I fear to also inherited the ability to see into the Dark Lord's mind."

"So, we're connected because were bound with both magic and the fact that part of his soul is in me," Harry says. "That's why I have visions, because they're not visions at all, but glimpses into his head. . . into his _mind_."

"I believe so, yes," Dumbledore replies, nodding. "I understand this is a lot to take in, Harry, but you must be aware that the connections between your minds are becoming stronger, winding you together closer that I ever feared. If Voldemort is able to make you feel Ollivanders pain, the impact of his curse, then his hold on your mind could become susceptible to him."

"Possession, you mean," Harry frowns. "You think he might possess me?"

"It is a possibly that with these new visions and the strength of them, I believe could come true," Dumbledore replies.

"What do you want me to do?" Harry asks, a bitter bite adding a tinge to his tone. He's frustrated and angry for Dumbledore dumping all of this on him, with the prophecy and the connection between him and Voldemort because they _share a soul_ swirling around his head so fast he can feel his thoughts getting whiplash. And now, Dumbledore is speaking the accusation that Harry is potentially weak-minded enough to be possessed by the Dark Lord.

"I want to offer you a chance to have lessons in the art of barricading your mind, a way to put a wall between the door that allows Voldemort to share his mind with you, and potentially tap into yours."

"Where will I get those lessons?"

"At Hogwarts, with Professor Snape."

The laughter that bursts out of Harry startles them both. It's bitter like acid, harsh and cold. His insides feel twisted, a snide anger settles inside him, foreign and heavy.

"I want nothing to do with that professor," he says. "I'm not doing it. No way. Sorry, but that is _not_ going to happen."

"Harry, Occlumency is a very valuable skill to have, it could be what protects your mind from—"

"Voldemort possessing me, yeah. Look, as far as I'm aware, sharing Voldemort's thoughts haven't done any harm yet and could possibly be useful, I mean, take today as an example, if I hadn't had that vision then we'd have never known that Voldemort has Ollivander in his possession, would we?"

"Harry, if this goes on, it could become dangerous. If Voldemort gets a stronger hold on your mind—"

"What is he going to find out? I don't know anything for him to learn! Like you said, the only thing he's really looking for is the prophecy, and it's not like I've seen it myself so if he decides to tap into my mind, he isn't going to find anything more valuable than if he tapped into a fucking muggle."

"And what if he possesses you?"

"Then you better bloody well hope I'm as strong as you all say I am."

The two men stand in silence. Harry can feel his magic thrumming through him like a second blood, pumping like his pulse. The adrenaline from the thugs he's found out have chased away the remnants of fatigue that clipped at his nerves and muscles.

Harry can't learn with Snape. He _refuses_ to learn with him, work with him. It wouldn't work anyway. Harry doesn't trust that the man wouldn't purposely sabotage him. Whatever problems he had with his father didn't die when he did, and the professor still seems to hold everything from his torment over Harry's head.

 _No_ , Harry thinks. He'd rather be possessed than have to work with Severus Snape.

The door behind him opens, and Lupin and Sirius step out into the hallway.

"Everything alright?" Lupin asks. Harry's wonders if they can sense the tension between him and Dumbledore.

"Harry is refusing Occlumency lessons, despite my opinion of the matter," Dumbledore explains, and despite the heat between them, the man speaks with gentleness and patience, as if he doesn't entirely blame Harry for his refusal.

Or perhaps he just thinks Lupin and Sirius will back him up.

"Is this true?" Lupin asks.

Harry nods.

"Why?"

"I have to learn with Snape," Harry says, but then adds, "and I think the visions might be helpful, as they have been so far."

Sirius doesn't look entirely convinced. "Harry, you experienced a Cruciatus Curse through the mind bond. Are you sure?"

"I've heard of Occlumency," Harry admits, because he has. "I read it in a book before, and I know what it involves. I'm not comfortable with Snape - or anybody - looking into my mind. If it gets bad, if he does possess me, then you have my permission to do whatever it takes to undo the damage or break the bond, but until then, the door stays open."

The three older men are silent for a long time.

"I need you to know I highly disagree with this, Harry," Dumbledore says, and Harry opens his mouth to tell him to shove his disagreement where the sun doesn't shine, but the headmaster interrupts him before he can. " _But_ , if this is what you want, if you think you can mentally withstand seeing these things, then I will allow it. For now."

Harry inwardly bristles at the additional of 'for now', but nods none the less.

He looks to the other two.

"If this is what you want, then we will support your decision," Lupin says, and Sirius nods in agreement.

Harry lets out a long breath, shoulders slouching slightly. Whatever Dumbledore wants doesn’t matter now. Something inside him warms him like a blanket knowing Sirius and Lupin support him.

Something inside him feels _whole._

 

A few nights later, the Order are gathered around again. Kreacher has brought them dinner to the drawing room while they pour over the map. Ollivander is still missing, and Voldemort has disappeared from all radars once more.

They hear a whimper come from the sofa. Harry had laid down hours before, having got back from an evening shift at the pub and day at college. He'd been ushered towards the sofa with Tonks to look over some books and had fallen asleep almost immediately. They all freeze at the table, Arthur falling silent from where he was speaking. A moment passes before a piercing scream, so loud it could challenge a banshee, shatters through the air.

Harry flies off the sofa like he’s been thrown, landing hard on the floor before the fire.

"Harry!"

Sirius and Lupin, leap from the table and towards him. He gasps out, heavy and short and terrified breaths as he sits up, shaking from head to toe when they crouch down beside him.

"S-shit," Harry shudders, palm coming up to cradle his forehead— his scar.

"Harry, what is it?" Sirius asks. "What did you see?"

"The Ministry," he gasps. "He’s at Ministry."

There’s a moment of stunned silence, and then all members of the Order Apparate at the same time out of the room. Harry sits up straighter.

"Where are they going?" He asks. "Are they going to the Ministry? We need to go! We need to—"

"What _you_ need to do, is keep sitting down. You look bloody awful, kid," Lupin says, frowning at him. "Stay here, I’m getting you some water."

"I don’t—"

"Be quiet, Harry."

The teen gapes at his Godfather. He’s still on the floor, legs sprawled out on the rug and held up by his arms behind him.

"Sit up," Sirius murmurs as Lupin dashes out. "You’re shaking."

"He's looking for the Prophecy, isn't he?" Harry asks. "That's what Dumbledore said: that the Prophecy is in the Ministry of Magic. What if—"

"Slow down, take a breath. The Ministry and the Order have under control."

"But _we’re_ the Order too, why aren’t we doing _something_?" Harry stresses.

"Because you just had a vision/nightmare and you look like a new born foal trying to walk on ice."

Harry flashes him a weak glare just as Lupin comes rushing back in. He hands Harry the glass.

"Sip it slowly."

"Have you heard from the Order?"

"Not yet. It’s only been a few minutes."

"Have you owned Dumbledore?"

"I’m sure Alastor let him know as soon as he left," Remus assures him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine, can we—"

"Don’t lie," Sirius snaps. "For once, just don’t _lie_."

Harry blinks twice, eyebrows inching up slightly.

"My scar is burning, my head feels like it’s going to spin off my neck, I’m aching like I’ve been hit by a bus and it’s taking a real lot of fucking effort not to pass out right now," he says. "Satisfied?"

"Very," Sirius flashes a smile. "Now finish your drink."

Harry’s almost finished the rest of the glass when five clouds of white burst into the air. The Order members stand, all panting and few deshelved. 

"What happened?" Lupin ask, climbing to his feet. Harry stays on the floor, secretly feeling too shaky to risk standing up. Sirius stays on the floor with him too, crouched down and close.

"You were right, Harry," Tonks breathes. "They were all there."

"What did they do?"

"Chaos," Moody grunts. "They were destroying everything, killing everyone in sight."

"The Ministry has collapsed," Kingsley adds.

"The Prophecy?" Harry asks desperately.

"Destroyed," Dumbledore replies. All eyes suddenly find Tonks. "It was dropped."

A ruby red, vibrant blush creeps up on the witches cheeks as she ducks her head. Her eyes meet Harry’s, who flashes her a wide smile.

"Bless Merlin for your natural clumsiness Tonks," Harry murmurs.

Tonks’ mouth stretches into a shy smile, head still ducked and shoulders hunched.

"So the Ministry is gone," Harry concludes, arms crossed. "What does this mean?"

"It means that there is no more Ministry, which means there is nothing controlling the wizarding world. There are no laws, no Aurors, no prisons. It’s all under Voldemort’s thumb now," Moody replies.

Silence settles over the room as everyone processes what has happened. The wizarding world is going to be in chaos, even more of a battle ground than it was before. There is nothing to control it, nothing to stop forbidden curses or wizarding crimes. Fear and worry pulses through them all like a singular heartbeat.

Suddenly, Harry chuckles and all eyes turn towards him.

"Sorry, I just realised," he says, looking at Sirius, "this means we're as wanted as you."

 

_— tbc._

 


	6. Hangin' By The Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where I am going with this :)

****5

With the Ministry folding on itself like broken cardboard, the wizarding world spirals out of control. The false-peace the Ministry and papers had been portraying for months come rushing out in a panic-driven catastrophe. The morning after Stiles' vision, Rufus Scrimgeour's dead body is found hanging from a tree in the middle of London, for all wizards and Muggles to see. Whatever Voldemort's intentions, he must have achieved them from that for the wizarding world was in peril and then the Muggle world was in panic. With the Ministry gone and Rufus murdered, Voldemort and his Death Eaters roamed free, there was nothing stopping him from attacking wizards or Muggles.

Harry is put on official house arrest and is told he is now allowed to leave Grimmauld place unless he is accompanied. At first, Harry protested, feeling victimised and belittled that it was only him having to make sacrifices and be babysat. It wasn't until he found out that everyone has been warned to go outside in pairs that he reluctantly agreed. After the few attacks in London on the bridges and in exploding restaurants, the media plaguing them with ideas of war attack's, Harry's college has closed and cancelled all the classes until further notice, so Harry only ever leaves the house for shifts at the pub. Surprisingly enough, it's still considerably busy despite all the chaos, so whenever Harry has a shift, Sirius shifts into his dog form and comes with him. At first, Harry found it strange to look down at his feet and find a large black dog walking beside him, and Justin wasn't too impressed when Harry asked if he could stay while Harry worked, using the excuse he was dog sitting for a relative, but eventually Justin caved. Harry caught him stroking him one time, and Harry could have cried with laughter at the look Sirius shot him when his boss began to pet him.

Harry's visions continue, though none are as bad as the time he became Ollivander. Nightmares plague him, and he feels bad when he wakes Sirius up during the night as they've come to sleeping on the sofas in the drawing room every night now. He keeps in contact with Tammy, makes sure to catch up with his college peers when they come into the pub every other night. Despite classes being out at the moment they still come to bother Harry at work like they always used to. It's annoying, but it's the normalcy Harry needs to stay sane.

 

Half way through the school year, there is an attack in Hogsmeade. According to Madam Poppin, whom had been in the hairdressing salon across the street at the time, two individuals dressed in black and hooded Apparated just outside the Honeydukes shop before going inside. Ambrosius Flume and his wife were found dead on the shop floor, their eyes open wide, stuck from moments before their deaths. The inside of the shop is roughed up, but clearly from a fight instead of intention. It is clear that the two who broke in didn’t break in for vandalism.

Four figures appear with rushes of air just outside the abandoned shop. The sun is setting over the horizon, dying the sky a glowing orange that makes the town look soft and warm.

Harry pulls his canvas boomer jacket tighter around his shoulders. The wind is harsh, making the already cold winter air bitter and biting. The bare skin of his face stings and his already messy black hair ruffles in the wind, falling limp on his forehead. He looks around, the street is empty, the curtains drawn over every window despite it not being nightfall. The Hog’s Head Inn is silent, the door closed and inside deserted. Harry has never been to Hogsmeade, but for Tonks, Lupin and Mad-Eye, the silence is not

"What could Death Eaters possibly have wanted with a _sweet_ shop anyway?" Tonks stresses as Mad-Eye points his wand at the door and murmurs _Alohomora._

"Dumbledore said they were looking for something—" Harry cuts himself off as they step inside. ". . . or at least, thats what it looks like."

Harry is right: inside everything is turned over, obvious in some kind of haste to find something.

"Merlin," Tonks murmurs. The Flume’s bodies were unsurprisingly removed when they were found, but their shop is still a mess. "What could they possibly have been looking for?"

"Isn’t it obvious?" Lupin replies, heading to the back of the chaotic room. He disappears down a set of wide wooden stairs, and Tonks follows hurriedly after him. Harry wanders more slowly, his eyes flicking towards Moody, who stands looking out the window at the empty street. Harry has a feeling Moody was made to come with them as a form of protection, and he mildly bristles at the idea of Dumbledore insisting that they need a bodyguard.

He follows Tonks and Lupin down into the cellar that’s crowded with crates and boxes of stock.

"Would anyone believe that they broke in to steal some sweets?" Harry asks, suppressing a shiver from the cooler air of the cellar.

Tonks chuckles and Lupin shakes his head. Harry peers into one of the crates and picks up a box of Jelly Slugs. He remembers the first time he got on the Hogwarts Express six years ago, having only just met Ron and with a pocket full of Galleons, bought one of everything off the Honeydukes trolley. His stomach rumbles in hunger at the memory and he is reminded he skipped breakfast that morning, so he shoves the box into his jacket pocket and turns back to the room.

"What?" He asks when he meets Lupin’s hard eyes. "It’s not like they’re going to need them now."

Lupin’s face morphs into disappointed annoy, but Harry doesn’t care - he can’t shake off the feeling that everything he does, Lupin compares it to his father. Lupin didn’t live on London streets for weeks at the age of 12. Stealing was his only survival skill, and Harry supposes maybe he hasn’t quite grown out of the habit of snatching easy food.

"Is there a reason you led us down into the cellar, Lupin?" Harry asks, desperate to shake off Lupin’s judgemental eyes.

To his relief, it works. Lupin nods, "Yes. If I assume correctly, the Death Eaters were looking for something very specific, and it wasn’t candy."

The ex-professor bends down and pulls open a trapdoor that almost perfectly disguised with the wooden floorboards of the cellar floor. Tonks gasps, and Harry raises one eyebrow in surprise. He was _not_ expecting that.

"Holy Merlin," Tonks says, rushing to his side to look down the dark hole in the floor. "Where does it lead?"

"Hogwarts," Lupin replies. "Third floor of the castle in the Gunhilda of Gorsemoor corridor."

"How do you know this is here?" Harry asks, coming to step beside them. Below them is a black hole, nothing to be seen apart from a few stairs that lead down into nothing.

"I was a student at Hogwarts, Harry. I suspect the Death Eaters were aware there is a secret pathway into Hogwarts through Honeydukes and came here last night to find it."

"But the Ministry turned up before they could," Harry finishes. "Wow. They’re really dedicated to getting into the castle."

He hears Tonks snort, and raises his head in time to see her flash him an enormous smile.

"This is great. This is it, isn’t it? We’ve found out what they were looking for," she says.

"But if we can find it, there’s nothing stopping Death Eaters finding it later," Harry points out. "If the Death Eaters were looking for it, they’re likely to come back and try to find it again."

"They’re not idiots, they won’t come back now."

"I wouldn’t be surprised if they did," Harry says. "They may not be idiots, but they are under Voldemort’s thumb - who won’t stop at anything before he gets what he wants. And right now, I think it’s obvious that he wants into the castle."

"We should tell Dumbledore," Tonks adds.

Upstairs, they find Moody by the window.

"You done?" He asks gruffly.

"Yes. They wanted to find a secret passage that leads directly into the Hogwarts castle," Lupin explains.

"All right. Harry, Nymphadora, you two go back to Grimmauld and tell everyone. Lupin, you and me are going to speak to some locals, see if we can find anymore witnesses," Moody explains.

Tonks opens her mouth, obviously about to complain both about the use of her whole first name and that her and Harry are being sent home, but Harry tugs the sleeve of her jacket and shakes his head.

"It’s not worth complaining about," Harry explains when Lupin and Moody have left to knock on doors. Him and Tonks leave Honeydukes, the cold air instantly chilling their skin. The sun has sunk completely behind the hills, the temperature having dropped like the sun had sucked the last reigning heat out of the atmosphere. He flicks his wand at the door, uttering _Colloportus_ to re-lock the Honeydukes shop door.

"Don’t you want to go with them?" Tonks asks, the collars of her jacket turned up to protect her neck and bottom of her face.

Harry shakes his head. "Not really. I’m perfectly fine with _not_ knocking on strangers doors and asking them about Death Eaters. People normally don’t take lightly to the subject."

Tonk nods in subjected agreement and they Apparate to Grimmauld place kitchen.

 

Harry hasn’t been to Hogwarts since he left in his second year. His exit had been through humiliation, fear and hate. Harry hadn’t thought about going back for years. When he first left, he’d been heartbroken - Hogwarts had been more of a home to him in a year and a half than Privet Drive had been for 10 years, and the idea of leaving had crushed him more than the rumours had. For a long time after, he’d believed one day he’d wake up to Dumbledore begging him to come back, saying that everyone was wrong and that he was welcome to return. But after two years of that not happening, Harry had turned bitter and angry. He’d resented Hogwarts and everyone in it, he’d resented the wizarding world for everything that they’d given him, teased him with and then ripped away from him.

Harry had never imagined he’d go back, and after all this time, he still can’t believe what Dumbledore is asking of him.

"You’re nervous," Sirius says as they walk down the empty Hogsmeade high street. The wards are still up on the castle, so the Order members can only Apparate as close as Hogsmeade and walk up to the castle ground by foot.

"Nope," Harry feigns, keeping his head down and eyes on the ground in front do him. "Not nervous, just not looking forward to this."

"I understand," Sirius replies. "I don’t know how I feel about being back here too."

"I’m surprised Dumbledore is letting you. People still believe you're a Death Eater."

Harry knows his words are harsh, but he feels vulnerable and exposed and he's lashing out in the only way he knows.

"I guess Dumbledore is hoping me being brought in as a force of protection will make all the students not think of me as that," Sirius’ tone is tense and almost biting, but Harry can't blame him for it.

"At least there’s not going to be anyone here that drove you out," he mumbles. He knows, and he is overly conscious, that all the students in the seventh year are the people who shared classes with him. He’s not looking forward to seeing them all again.

"It’ll be fine," Sirius says. "Things have changed."

 _For the better?_ Harry wants to asks, but he stays quiet. He isn’t sure what he can say to that that won’t cause an argument. He’s on edge, he’s snappish and he wants to be anywhere but here.

Hogwarts comes into view, and it is both the same and nothing like Harry remembers it from all those years ago. It stands high, magnificent and sculptured with glory, yet now it feels darker, clouded and marked. The sky is clear but the air is cold and vicious, chilling Harry to the bone through his coat and jumper. His heart races and beats like a jackhammer in his chest, pounding like a pair of fists against his ribs. Passing the gates that stand tall and daunting, Harry clenches his fists in his pockets. He tries to control the anxiety coursing through him that pumps like a second blood through his veins. His knees feel weak before he forces himself to plunge the feelings to the bottom of his stomach. He has nothing to fear, he assures himself.

He wants to shout out, to grab Sirius’ arm and make them stop. He wants to tell his God-father that he can’t do it, that he can’t face everyone again. The anxiety is growing inside him like an inflating balloon, expanding and ready to burst. He feels like a heavy, cold stone has dropped in his stomach, weighing him down. He wants to ground to swallow him whole.

He reminds himself of who he is: he’s Harry Potter. He was brought here by Dumbledore’s request; the headmaster, one of the greatest wizards of all time wants - _needs -_ him here.

With a breath of confidence, Harry strides alongside the other Order members up to the castle.

 

Breakfast is filled with whispers and mutterings that morning, more than normal. Hermione looks up and down the Griffindor table, watching her fellow classmates as they gossip and chat about the biggest news that month. The attack on Hogsmeade threw all the students into a frenzy, and even the staff have been seeming on edge.

"What do you think they’re doing about it?" Ron asks.

Hermione looks up from her breakfast. "What?"

"The Order. What do you think they’re doing about the attack?"

"I can’t imagine they’re doing nothing," Hermione says, because truly she has no idea. She wants to believe they’re doing something, that they’re succeeding in whatever Dumbledore has decided, but honestly she doesn’t know. "Dumbledore will have a plan. Has your mother said anything?"

Ron scoffs. "Bloody fat chance of that. Of course she hasn’t."

Hermione nods and is disappointed despite herself. She spoons some more oatmeal into her mouth glumly. She hates not being in the know, and focusing on her classwork is becoming increasingly difficult as more is happening outside of their knowledge. She knows the Order must be doing _something_ , and it frustrates her not knowing what those on her side are doing. She considers herself, and Ron, part of the Order despite Molly’s consistent denying that they’re 'not of age', even though Hermione turned 18 in September and Ron is turning 18 in less than two weeks. Hermione knows they’re being denied the knowledge and acceptance into the Order because they’re still students, but they’re in their 8th year, their final year, and they deserve to be involved as much as everyone else.

Looking up at the head of the hall, Hermione is surprised to see members of the Order standing behind the long table of teachers. She sits up, craning her neck to see better and is confirmed: they’re all there.

Other students are noticing too, the whispers becoming louder as everyone realises there is a large group of wizards and witches standing by the teachers.

"Ron," she murmurs, shaking the red-heads arm.

With a mouthful of sausage, Ron sputters, "W’t? W’t, 'mione— ger off—"

"Look!" Hermione hisses, nodding towards the front. Ron looks, and makings a choking sound on his food.

"Bloody hell," he curses, looking back at Hermione with wide eyes. "What are they doing here? Do you think—?"

"Must be, Dumbledore has called them here to protect us."

Just as she says that, Dumbledore rises at the head table and the whole hall falls silent. It is unusual for him to make an announcement in the morning, and instantly Hermione’s stomach drops. That combined with the presence of the Order must mean something is wrong.

"Good morning," Dumbledore begins, voice booming like a alarm. "I hope you have all enjoyed your breakfast. As you have all heard and are aware, something happened in Hogsmeade a few days ago that has risen rumours. I want you to be assured that you are all perfectly safe here at Hogwarts. There are wards and protection charms performed by myself and other wizards whom have made the castle the safest place for you all to be. You have no reason, at all, to feel at all in danger. To maximise your protection, I have brought in some of the most powerful and most trusted wizards and witches whom—"

Dumbledore is cut off when loud gasps fill the air and instantly, without turning her head, Hermione knows what they’re all looking at. Or to be more exact, _who_ they’re looking at.

"Is that. . .?"

"That’s Harry Potter!"

"Is that Harry Potter?"

"Sirius Black!"

"I thought Potter was dead!"

"What’s _Harry Potter_ doing here?"

Turning on the bench, she see’s between the open Great Hall doors, Harry standing beside Sirius. Hermione suspected this was to happen: Harry is part of the Order, as are all the individuals standing up by Dumbledore.

Harry isn’t looking into the hall, but instead looking at Lupin who’s talking to the pair of them. Hermione looks at Harry’s faded skinny jeans and knitted jumper and wonders how he looks so much older than 17, so much older than the rest of them. Her stomach twinges when she remembers he should be beside her and Ron, sitting on the bench in Hogwarts robes, listening to Dumbledore’s announcements instead of fighting alongside a group of adults.

No one is listening to Dumbledore now. The headmaster and the Order at the front of the Great Hall are forgotten in exchange for the excitement that Harry Potter and Sirius Black, two of the most famous names in the wizarding world, are standing just outside the room.

"Can I have everyone’s attention again?" Dumbledore’s voice booms in the large hall. Heads turn, some so fast their necks could snap. Hermione follows the wave of movement and faces the front. When she see’s Ron not doing the same, she nudges him hard on the arm and nods to the front. "Thank you. As I was saying, and as you can probably tell, I have brought in a form of protection to guard Hogwarts for the remainder of the year. The attack on Hogsmeade was no accident, and while you have no reason to panic or worry, I want you all to be aware and observant to anything happening around the castle. In other notices, all visits to Hogsmeade have been banned, no one is to leave the castle walls alone, even when walking around the grounds. If there is any alarm or you suspect anything, find one of the wizards and witches I have brought in. I would like to introduce you to Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Bill Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks—"

"But you can all call me Tonks," she adds, smiling.

"— my apologies, _Tonks_ ," Dumbledore corrects, "and coming in now, we have Sirius Black and Harry Potter."

Another wave of head turning to find Harry, Sirius and Lupin walking into the hall. Lupin nods to Dumbledore, a silent message between the two that Hermione is hungry to translate but is too transfixed at Harry being so close once again, yet so incredibly far. Harry appears uncomfortable but confident, with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets but his head held high like he knows he’s meant to be there.

"You will respect these Aurors like your superiors," Dumbledore adds. "They are here to protect you and the castle, and I expect you to only bother them in a time of need. Now, please, go and enjoy your day. Your classes begin in a few minutes."

There’s a moment of silence while Dumbledore’s words before the hall is filled with the screeching and scraping sound of benches being pushed back and everyone standing up. Harry, Sirius and Lupin are now at the front of the hall, speaking to Dumbledore and the other Aurors.

"I had no idea your brother was coming," Hermione says to Ron. "Do you think your parents know?"

"Of course they would know," Ron replies, looking over his shoulder at the group at the front. "They probably don’t approve though."

"What about Fred and George? Aren’t they members of the Order?"

"They’re also business owners, remember? The shop? They’re probably down Diagon Alley, trying to help maintain a 'routine of normalcy’ as Dumbledore keeps stressing about."

Hermione nods. They’re at the back of the crowd of students trying to fit through the large double doors, and she spares a glance behind her at the Aurors and teachers. Harry isn’t looking at her, but as if he can feel her eyes, he turns his head and their eyes meet.

He looks away a moment later, expression unchanged, and Hermione’s last glimmer of hope diminishes.

Hermione’s mind is somewhere else for all her lessons. She doesn’t seen any sign of the Aurors and Harry throughout the entire day. The corridors and classrooms are as unsupervised as they always have been, but just _knowing_ they’re in the castle is enough to keep Hermione distracted. More than when they were staying at Grimmauld Place, Hermione is desperate to reconnect with Harry. Despite only spending just over a year in his company, Hermione came to cherish Harry’s friendship and loyalty, and it crushed her knowing he left because of all of their lack of belief in him. She tries to comfort herself that it wasn’t just her who didn’t believe Harry when the Chamber of Secrets opened, but she simply can’t justify herself. Ron and her were Harry’s friends, _best friends,_ and they turned their back on him to save their own skin and Hermione knows something like that is not just brushed under the carpet.

Guilt sinks into her bones once again. She knows what she did was wrong, but they were all so young, so scared and so transparent to what was really happening. They were misguided by the other students, by the teachers and what was obvious in their eyes, that they didn’t think about what could be really going on. By the time Hermione and Ron realised what had happened, Harry had disappeared completely from theirs and everyone else’s lives. He was out of reach, out of contact and Hermione tried, probably more than Ron in the end, to find Harry. She asked Dumbledore as often as he allowed if there has been any word of Harry’s existence and whereabouts.

After lunch, Hermione and Ron have a free period and after much convincing, Hermione manages to make Ron come to library to revise for their upcoming N.E.W.T exams. They may have a war going on, she reminds him, but the war will end and when it does, they need to have good grades to continue after Hogwarts.

Walking down the corridor by the Great Hall, they turn the corner to find a group of Slytherins walking their way.

"I can’t believe Dumbledore brought a _criminal_ and Harry _bloody_ Potter to 'protect' us," Draco is ranting, thin, long face twisted in a vicious scowl.

"Dumbledore has really dug himself a grave this time," Pansy adds.

"Who would feel safe with them around? Potter is probably plotting to kill us all as we sleep."

Draco shakes his head. "When my father hears about this, Dumbledore will be confronted by—"

"By what?" Ron interrupts. Draco looks at them, as if only just realising they’re there.

Draco’s eyes narrow, piercing and vicious. His lips are curled, anger seeping from him. "Not that it’s any of your concern, _Weasel_ , but many parents are going to be furious at Dumbledore’s actions at bringing two criminals into the school. He has crossed the line this time."

"Harry isn’t a criminal," Hermione says. She can’t speak for Sirius, as he does still have a record and the Ministry have only just risen the public hunt for him. "Harry hasn’t done anything wrong—"

"The entire wizarding world thinks differently," Draco argues, smugness filling his tone. "Everyone knows he’s the reason all of this is happening."

"You more than anyone would know that Harry isn’t working with You-Know-Who, or that he’s the heir to Slytherin," Ron almost shouts.

"And what are you trying to say, Weasel?" Draco snarls, taking a step forward. He’s tall and towering, colourless skin like a ghost. His narrow shoulders are squared, his wand suddenly in his hand.

"Have you got a problem with me, Malfoy?"

Everyone freezes. Hermione, Ron, the Slytherins and all the students wandering past them stop, turning to look at the individual who’s managed to walk down the entire of the Grand Staircase without being noticed or detected.

Harry stands in the same clothes he was wearing that morning, his jacket gone and the sleeves of his turtle-neck sweater rolled up to the elbows. His arms are crossed, his eyebrow raised as he waits for an answer.

"Well, well," Draco drawls. "If it isn’t Harry _Potter_. You have some guts showing your face around here again."

To everyone’s surprise, Harry smiles. "Thank you, Malfoy."

"It wasn’t a compliment."

"Sounded like it to me?" Harry feigns confusion, sarcasm clear in his shameless voice. "I didn’t realise you were so intimidated."

"I’m not intimidated by anything, and definitely not by you, Potter," Draco spits. "You’re just as weak as you always were. That’s why you ran away, and that’s why Dumbledore brought you back. You’re not here to protect us, you’re here because _you_ need protection."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, and when my father here’s about this—"

"You’re father won’t do anything. He’s as cowardly as you."

Draco’s face washes of more colour. His pale lips curl over his teeth in an animalistic snarl. He looks feral, demented.

"At least I have a father to run to. Grave stones aren’t very comfortable in times of need, are they?"

There’s a long moment of silence, and Draco looks incredibly pleased with himself. For a long time, Harry doesn’t react, until suddenly his green eyes fill with something cold and dark and his hand raises so fast no one see’s it coming.

Malfoy’s grin is whipped of his face when suddenly he’s flying back through the air, robes fluttering around him like a ghost, and crashes hard on the stone floor of the Great Hall, soaring through the large open doors. He skids on his back, crashing into the heavy wooden tables with a _thump_ and a loud cry.

Malfoy sit’s up quickly, cradling his arm. His face is white with fear, eyes so wide the balls could fall out.

"You better watch your tongue if you don’t want to lose it, Malfoy," Harry warns, his voice so cold it turns Hermione’s insides to ice. It’s like all the warmth has been sucked out of the room, eerily similar to when Dementors are around.

She stares, frozen stiff, at harry. Fear sits cold and heavy in her stomach. Harry had blasted Draco off his feet with another but a rise of his hand, as if he’d physically throw him back. How had he done that? Can he perform magic without a wand?

"Potter, how dare you—" Snape starts, coming running down the corridor, but he freezes in his tracks when Harrys eyes snap towards him and his hand flies up. There's still a vine of a violent, pearly blue curling up his wrist and arm like a snake from the palm of his hand.

"Control your snakes, Snape," Harry snarls, "before one of them bites you on the ass."

Stifled laughter rings out and Professor Snape’s pale face burns stark red. His lips tremble with anger, his fists clenched and his wand close to snapping from the pressure.

Harry lowers his hand, he blue fading into nothing, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth are grinding together. He looks nothing like the boy who came to them all those years ago. Gone are the soft edges and bright eyes, instead replaced with sharp lines and cold stares. He looks like a criminal in his dark clothes and white, pale skin. Despite no blood relation, Hermione finds it eerie how much he looks like his godfather Sirius, with the unruly hair and gaunt, hollow cheeks.

He looks around at all of them.

"Shouldn’t you all be getting to class?" He asks, and as if a teacher had said it, they all begin scurrying away, books clutched to their chests, mouths moving rapidly in hushed whispers.

Hermione and Ron don’t move. Their eyes flick from Harry, to Draco and his goonies, to Snape.

"Take Malfoy to the infirmary," Snape mutters quietly to the two Slytherins helping Draco to his feet. The glaring professor looks to Harry, "When Dumbledore hears about this. . ."

Harry raises his eyebrow again, a look as if to say, _I dare you to say something_.

Snape falls silent. His face is still morphed into an ugly scowl, but he manages to drag his piercing eyes away from Harry to look at the two Gryffindors. 

"Haven’t you got somewhere to be?"

He turns before they can answer, following Draco, Crabbe and Goyle down the hallway as they hobbled and swayed with the injured Slytherin between them.

Hermione looks to the exiled Griffindor beside them, also watching the Slytherins disappear.

She opens and closes her mouth a few times to speak, but once again finds herself lost for words.

"That was bloody awesome," Ron bursts suddenly.

Harry slowly looks at them, his expression as it always has been. And then, his lips quirk up slightly.

"'Bout time someone put him in his place," he says, and then he’s turning, walking towards the large entrance doors and exiting without another word.

 

_— tbc._

 


	7. Good at Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the support so far. the comments are making my heart burst <3 you guys are the best x

****6

Dumbledore’s Order members are situated all around the castle for the next few weeks. Sirius spends most of his time either walking around the grounds or sitting in Hogs Head Inn drinking Butter Beer with Remus and the others. Dumbledore has provided them with a form of common room for them to retrieve to away from the students and teachers, also attached to their sleeping quarters. It’s cosy and warm, reminding him vividly of the Griffindor common room with its plush couches and large fires. Sirius can’t work out if he feels at home being back at Hogwarts, or as if he’s come back to a place, like Harry, where he’s been branded and banished. Despite the Ministry lifting his charges, people still look at him like he’s going to erupt like a rabid animal and kill them all. Sirius has not missed the looks, or the mutterings as he’s walked by or entered a room that fall hush suspiciously quickly around him. He feels uncomfortable, until he reminds himself that he has no need to be. He’s not here to make a name for himself anymore, he’s here to protect the students and the Order. Besides, after a brief talk with the Weasley twins before they went back to Diagon Alley, Sirius is aware that his and Remus’ history as the Marauders has travelled through Hogwarts.

When Sirius is on guard around the grounds, he’s either walking the halls or tracing the grass lands outside. He’s fortunate enough that the others have allowed him to do the guarding during the night, relieving him from the chances of bumping onto teachers and students. Sirius has avoided the majority of the Hogwarts population like the plague, happy to eat his meals with the other Aurors in their rooms.

Sirius keeps his eyes close on Harry. His Godson appears to be so entirely out of his comfort zone he's built a barricade around himself. He's nothing like the teen him and Lupin were beginning unravel at Grimmauld Place. It's like he's shut off all the emotion they'd slowly tempted out of him, now he's nothing but a cold, blank void of a person. Sirius knows he's scared, knows he's struggling with the concept of being back. Hell, even without Voldemort running around outside, coming back to Hogwarts was something that would have thrown Harry off the rocker anyway. Sirius knows Harry is barely sleeping, always volunteering to take the night watches with him and spends his time during the day either hiding in the Auror room or hiding in the top of the Astronomy tower. Sirius caught him smoking another one of those cigarettes up there on their second day, but instead of confiscating like he'd always been tempted to do during their time together at Grimmauld, he just sat with Harry and tried - and failed once again- to get him to talk.

Word quickly got around what happened between Harry and Draco Malfoy on their first day, and Sirius is nervous for Harry's sake how people are going to take the witness of a new form of magic. What Harry has is extraordinary, something out of a fairytale - more than magic is itself. People are going to be shocked, frightened even, and the first showing of it wasn't exactly in the most friendly way. Dumbledore doesn't seem concerned, or at least, if he is he hasn't said anything to Harry or the other Aurors about it. When asked, all Harry has said is Draco was running his mouth and deserved it, and no one has bothered to try and tell him any different. Draco, it seems, has for once learnt his lesson. Harry's outburst that landed him _literally_ on his ass seems to have convinced Draco to keep his opinions to himself. His eyes always find Harry in a room, as does everyone else's, but not a single word more has been exchanged between the two.

Being back at Hogwarts isn't easy for Sirius either. Lupin, at least, has spent some time in previous years teaching. Though he only taught Dark Arts for a year before he left, he still broke down the barrier that Sirius is still fighting against. Every time he turns a corner, it's like he's walked into a physical flash back. He can hear James, can imagine his touches and his laughter ringing through the hallways. More than once he's turned a corner, seen a group of boys, one who's back is always to him with black hair and fine robes like James. Sirius is always a moment from shouting out, just in case, when the boy will turn around and it's like the realisation physically slaps Sirius around the face. He's reminded of memories of Hogwarts, times in the classrooms, in the corridors and in the Great Hall when the four Marauders would be laughing at something, or reeking havoc and chaos.

Sirius is finding it harder to keep the memories at bay than he is fighting the urge to bite anyone who stares at him for too long. He understands how Harry feels completely: they're practically famous in the halls and not in a good way. Students goggle at him as he walks past, flatten themselves against walls to avoid him or stare, open mouthed and obvious, as he walks as if he's a literal fucking ghost. He hates it, and he hates when they talk loud enough for him to hear.

As much as anything, he hates the recognition from the teachers, those who have been there since he was a student, and those like Severus Snape, whom he learnt and grew up with.

During their time together at Grimmauld, Sirius learned that during Harry's short time at Hogwarts, Severus was none the kinder to Harry. He described the man as an ass who seemed to have a grudge over him before he even got the chance to get one. "He has it out for me," Harry had said, "Hated me from the damn start."

Sirius had told Harry of his and James' time during Hogwarts, and how they learnt alongside Snape. Harry had been surprised when he heard what had happened, and how his father and Godfather had treated their peer. He'd gone very quite for a long while after that too, and when persistently pressed about it admitted he was torn between finding it funny due to his own hatred for Snape, and betrayed and angry that his father appeared to be nothing but a pompous, arrogant bully. Sirius had to get Lupin over to help convince Harry that James Potter was those things but so much more, that he was a teenager in his prime, a confident guy and while Severus may not have deserved what they did to him, he damn well asked for it sometimes.

Since then, Harry has refused to talk about his father, and Sirius wonders if that's another things he's battling with being back at Hogwarts.

Sirius rubs his eyes, all the thinking making his temples throb.

"Are you all right?"

He opens his eyes and looks to Lupin opposite him, whom since September, has taken back his job as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It's night, the castle is silent apart from the howling winter wind outside.

"Fine," he replies gruffly, crossing his arms and slouching further into the couch cushions. It's just him and Lupin in the Orders temporary dorm room now, everyone else having gone to bed. The fire roars with an occasional crackle between the two sofas they're sitting on, pouring out heat that seems to do nothing to the emotional chill buried deep in Sirius bones.

"You don't sound fine," Remus says. He's marking papers, eyebrow raised in a clear statement of _You're not fucking fooling me_.

Sirius huffs and rolls his eyes in a way that reminds him of Harry.

"I'm fine, Moony."

Remus hums, scratching his quill across the parchment of some students work without looking up, he replies, "Penny for your thoughts?"

"You don't have any pennies."

The eyebrow rises again, bent in the middle like a half snapped stick.

"Who's on watch?"

"Harry and Tonks."

Sirius hums.

"Why?"

"Just wondering."

"Y'know, you can go to bed. It's not like you have assignments to mark."

"I won't sleep."

"Thinking too hard?"

"I'm going to go for a walk."

"I'll come with you."

"You don't have to," Sirius says, but Lupin has already dropped his papers down and is on his feet.

"I know. But maybe I want to."

Sirius rolls his eye, pushing on his knees and standing. "There really is no need. I don't need a ruddy bodyguard."

"Who says I'm coming to protect you?" Lupin replies, following him out into the corridor. "Maybe I'm coming for my own benefit, or maybe I'm coming to see if there are any students out of bed."

"You fool me."

Lupin rolls his eyes at the sarcasm that _drips_ from Sirius' voice. They wander down the dark, lightless hallways. The only way they can see their path is by the pearly white moon shining through the windows and reflecting off the aged floor and walls.

"How long do you think Dumbledore is going to keep us here for?" Sirius asks, voice hushed.

"He's not 'keeping' you here in the first place," Lupin replies.

"Well, it feels like he's keeping _me_ here. It's not like I can damn walk and continue with life as normal, is it? I'm surprised there isn't the entire Ministry here arresting me."

"Dumbledore told you, the Ministry is gone. There is no one left to arrest you."

"Only kill me."

"You and everybody else, don't consider yourself so special. You're technically a free man."

Sirius scoffs bitterly. "Hardly. I either stay here or go back to Grimmauld. And my name is not clear, the world still believes I'm a Death Eater who blesses the Earth that _cretin_ walks on."

Lupin chuckles. "It's not like you're trying to prove them wrong, though."

Sirius stops so abruptly. "Excuse me?"

Lupin slows and turns back to face him. "Well, it's true. You need to understand, Pad, that the brand they gave you when you went to Azkaban, what you went to Azkaban eligibly for, was inhuman. People were scared, and they _still are_ scared, and with you only coming out at night and glaring with your dark demeanour at anyone who comes in six foot of you, people aren't going to be any less scared."

"What am I meant to do?" Sirius practically shouts. "They point, they run away, they mock and talk and gasp—"

"They're children, Pad," Lupin murmurs calmly, sympathetically. He understands, he's not a virgin to finger pointing and gasping. He's been branded a monster all his life, for as long as he can remember.

"What should I do then?"

"I don't know. Just. . . please don't let it get you down."

"It's not getting me down."

Lupin stares at him with half lidded, unimpressed eyes. "I know you, and I'm not stupid."

Sirius huffs and storms forward, continuing to stomp down the corridor like an angry child. Lupin follows, catching up with his quick strides.

"I know it's hard, but everyone is scared and worried and no one truly feels safe. Dumbledore is brilliant, and his wards have held so far, but Voldemort is getting more and more powerful by the day, and no one really knows how long it's going to be before Voldemort manages to find a way to get into the castle. And when he does, the war will truly begin."

Sirius huffs again. "So melodramatic, Moony."

Lupin’s eyes narrow and he lets out an annoyed breath. "Sirius, don’t. This isn’t melodramatic, this is real, and it is dangerous to the students and to us. We’re here to protect them, and to do that they have to feel comfortable enough to follow you."

Sirius stops walking. They stand in silence, the eeriness of the empty castle, staring at each other. Sirius is torn, he wants to be angry but he also knows Lupin is right: he needs the people in the castle to trust him.

Question is, how does he gain a group of children’s trust when he’s been labelled a criminal for so long?

"Come on," Lupin says, "We should be heading back. We’re not on watch tonight, we should get some rest."

Sirius nods wordlessly.

They’re almost at the end of the hall when they hear a loud ring of laughter. They both spin around, tensing.

"What. . .?" Lupin starts, but it sounds again.

"That doesn’t sound like someone in pain," Sirius observes.

Lupin frowns, following the sound. They only have to round the corner before they see what it is: Harry is sitting on a ledge in the wall, swamped in a baggy hoodie and hair hanging limp on his forehead in the dim light. In front of him, Tonk’s is standing in front of him and ranting about something, exaggerating with her hands and movements. Harry keeps throwing his head back, laughing so loud it could be heard in Hagrid’s hut.

Lupin looks away and to Sirius beside him, who’s watching with wide, blown eyes, adoration and wonder in his expression. Harry has been just as much of a dark cloud as Sirius has since coming to the castle.

A smile tugs at Lupin’s lips: they’re going to be just fine.

 

Harry spends a lot of time wandering the castle. Him and the selected few members of the Order have been at Hogwarts for a week now, and nothing exciting has happened apart from Harry blasting Draco in his ass and some first year tripping down the stairs and breaking both his arms - which of course were instantly healed by Madam Pomfrey. The students know enough about the chaos outside of school to be worried. Some studentshave been pulled out, some have been contacted and informed by their parents of the terror happening outside the castle walls. Harry knows they know about Hogsmeade, it didn't take very long for the rumours to go around about what could have happened. The students are scared, they're paranoid and Dumbledore bringing in a group of 'protectors' - two of whom are a convicted Azkaban criminal and a murdering Heir to Slytherin - isn't going to make the students feel more protected, but more in danger. People don't need guards when there's nothing to be guarded _from_. 

Harry likes the night watches. Despite the cold winter air from the mountains, he enjoys sitting outside, in the entrance courtyard with his legs hanging over the edge of the wall and a drop beneath his feet. Sometimes, when it gets quiet enough, he can close his eyes and pretend he's not fighting a war. The cold air will blow gently through his hair, sink into his skin like the familiar bitter London breeze. Dumbledore hasn't mentioned his cigarettes yet, and for the first time since starting when he was 15, Harry is almost shy to do it. He isn't ashamed or embarrassed, it's just such a mundane and unusual thing to do in Hogwarts. It'd be like bringing a phone with him, it's just unheard of.

Harry ends up spending some Hagrid's house by the Forbidden Forest. There's something comforting about being back there, sitting at the dining table with hot tea in cracked cups and Fang drooling on his lap as if he hadn't left. At first, Hagrid wanted to talk about anything personal. The conversation was all questions; Where have you been? I was so worried when I heard you didn't go back to those Dursley folk. They were a shamble, but they would 'ave looked after you some; How have you learned magic? You're too important not to know your magic; Have you spoken to Ron and Hermione? They're bloody missing you, 'arry; Why do you smell of smoke?

Harry had shut everything down. He didn't want to talk about it, he didn't want to have to explain everything. Hagrid wouldn't understand, he would get it. He was too nice, too forgiving and accepting to understand why Harry didn't go back to try Dursley's, why he didn't contact them again or anyone at Hogwarts. Harry was both surprised and unsurprised when he found out that the wizard in world had him branded as missing after he left Hogwarts. Dumbledore must have got in contact with the Dursley's shortly after he left, looking for him to make sure he was somewhere Dumbledore could watch him, observe him. Harry has always wanted to know what the Dursley's did when they found out Harry was meant to come home, what they did when he didn't come back through the door after a day, a week, months and years. Harry never saw any missing persons adverts, nothing on the news about a missing 12 year old boy. It stings, and Harry can't help but use it as fuel to his fire.

Harry often finds himself sitting on Hagrid's door step during the day, when the room the Order have been given is too quiet or too crowded and he needs a fag and some time alone. He'll sit with his back to the door, butt on the first step and feet on the one below, Fang curled up largely at his side. He'll chain-smoke through a dozen, his friend from college having gotten back from France before they left and gave him dozens at a cheaper price. It put a dent in his wage, but other than his rent, it's not like he's got anything left to spend his money on in Hogwarts. Justin wasn't impressed about his sudden request for unpaid holiday, but the man knows Harry enough, likes him enough on a son-father level that he took one look at Harry's desperate expression and granted his wish. Harry owes him lots of overtime, but it was worth it instead of having to quit.

One evening, Harry is on watch outside again, but it's into the small hours of the morning and he got bored sitting in the courtyard, so after circling the grounds a few times, he settles for sitting on the bank by the lake. Sitting in the silence alone, he waits for the penny to drop.

It's not the same penny he expects.

He hears the footsteps first, hesitant and behind him. They're soft on the grass, as if the person is trying to be stealthy and silent.

Harry turns his head slowly, his half-burned cigarette hanging loosely between his fore and middle finger on his knees.

He has to blink twice before he can confirmed that is none other than Draco Malfoy standing behind him.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Harry asks. He was startled, but he is surprised. Draco isn't in his nightclothes, but instead dressed in his robes, the only thing missing is his tie. Harry doesn't know who's transformation from 12 to 17 has surprised him the most, but Draco's isn't anything less than he imagined. He's still thin faced, tall and pale. His blonde hair is still white and bleached, slick back like it's coated in grease. He looks put together, but shattering at the same time. Harry isn't going to pretend he's blind to the bags under his eyes or the twitchiness in his movements. Draco acts like a man on the run, a man being watched.

Harry think he knows why.

"What, cat got your tongue?"

"Why are you out here?" Draco asks, ignoring his first two questions.

Harry takes a drag and faces the lake. "I'm enjoying the view, and the silence, until it was disturbed."

Draco doesn't apologise, but Harry hears him shift his feet on the crispy grass. He frowns to the lake, it's awful strange for Draco not to seem like an overconfident queen.

He looks back over his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Draco blinks like he's been slapped. "What?"

"I said, are you alright?" Harry repeats.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because you don't look alright."

"You shouldn't care."

"Don't start this, Malfoy. I hate your guts, yes, but you're evidently not okay and I was brought up with enough manners to ask check if someone's alright," Harry sighs. "Plus, it was years ago. I seem to hate everyone nowadays, so don't take it personally."

Draco seems to take a minute to drink in what he's said. "I. . . you blasted me on your first day here."

"You were ranting loudly about how me and Sirius have been brought here to bring danger instead of protect you from it," Harry shrugs. "I'm an angry person, it doesn't take a lot to make me lash out."

"You're not meant to be like that."

"Like what?" Harry can feel the acid burning inside him, beginning to boil and threaten to overflow. He hates how people tell him how he’s meant to be, just because people know about his life before he did. He pushes the anger down. "You don't know shit, Malfoy. Don't tell me how I can and cannot be."

Draco blinks, eyes wide. His lips are thin, set in a scowl. He looks exactly like he did on their first day when Harry told him he didn’t want to be his friend, only now he looks more haunted.

"If there's nothing wrong, go back up to the castle. _You're_ a student, I don't think the teachers will be impressed with you being out of bed," Harry mocks, adding, "especially at such a dangerous time."

Draco doesn't move. He keeps looking at Harry, eyes filled with something Harry can't work out. He looks scared, but not of Harry.

"Seriously, Malfoy," he adds. He doesn’t want to think of Draco being afraid of something. The look of vulnerability ruins his reigning memory image of the scowling, angry teen. "If you're just going to stand there and stare at me, fuck off."

"I had no idea you were alive," Draco blurts. Harry startles, looking over his shoulder at the blonde. His cigarette droops ash, forgotten. "For years, everyone thought you were dead or kidnapped. It was. . . everyone was convinced the rumours about Voldemort would stop as you were gone. And then, he came back, but you. . . you were. . ."

"What's your point, Malfoy?"

"I'm just surprised, that's all. You basically got out, you escaped it all and you still came back?"

"There is no escape from this. Muggle or wizard, no one can hide from the inevitable. And I'm Harry Potter, it's not like I can just sit back and let everyone else fix my mess."

"Your mess?"

"Leave it, Malfoy," Harry is starting to get tired of the conversation. The last person he was to confess he feelings to is Malfoy. He doesn’t want to open himself up to the teen anymore. "I was serious, you should go back to bed. I know it bruises your pride, but you're still _are_ a student and students have rules. Why did you even get up?"

"Because you're down here."

And that. . . Harry was not expecting _that_.

He opens his mouth but no words come out. He actually cocks his head to the side, completely baffled.

"You. . . _what_?"

"I see you coming down here at night all the time."

"I'm on watch, Malfoy. That's what I was brought here to do."

"Where you serious about what you said?"

"Said about what?"

"It being years ago."

"Oh," Harry shoulders droop. He knows exactly what 'it' is. "I. . . uh, yeah. It was years ago. There's more important things to be focusing on than childish rivalries. Plus, I'm not really a Gryffindor anymore, so it’s not like there is a competition. You're still a bloody asshole, we clarified that earlier, but no, all grudges are gone."

Draco nods. "Right."

"We were 12, we can let it bloody go," Harry bites, tossing his dead bud end and lighting another with the box of matches he got from Hagrid. He can feel his defences beginning to rise, but he's not sure why. It's like Draco is prying without _actually_ prying.

"Are you going to kill him?"

Harry's head spins so fast to look at Malfoy again, who continues to stand above him.

"What? Who?"

"The Dark Lord. Are you going to kill him?"

Harry swallows. "Voldemort?" He ignores Draco' flinch, somehow it's not amusing when it looks like it physically shocks him to hear his name. "Yeah. We're going to defeat him."

Draco nods, and Harry thinks he imagines the way his shoulders sag. Harry was sure to use the words 'defeat' instead of 'kill'. For some reason, despite it being Voldemort, the word 'kill' still feels far to raw and sinister. Harry doesn't want to be a killer, the idea of blood on his hands makes his skin crawl. He wants to avenge everyone they've lost, to avenge his parents, but he some part of him, buried deep, knows if it comes to it, he will do whatever it takes to stop Voldemort, even if it does means drenching his hands in the permanent red stain. After all, he was born to either kill Voldemort, or _be_ killed _by_ him.

Harry snaps out of his thoughts and looks up when he hears the sound of the grass crinkling: Draco is walking away.

"Malfoy," he shouts, and the blonde turns around with the fright of a gun going off. "Why did you want to know?"

Draco doesn't reply. He keeps watching Harry, expression almost wary.

"Malfoy, are you a Death Eater?"

Harry doesn't see the point sugarcoating it. Draco either is or he isn't, and Harry has his money bet on _is_.

Draco's eyes widen comically, but quickly, he schools his expression. Harry has noticed this evening during their small encounter that he's worsened in the art of concealing emotions. He's been an abnormally open book.

His silence is enough of an answer for Harry.

He nods. "All right. No judgment there."

If possible, Draco' eyes grow larger, wider, like white, shining globes on his face. Harry knows he surprised, he's kind of surprised too at how okay he is with the idea of Draco being on Voldemort's side. Maybe it's because he can see that Draco isn't actually _okay_ with being on the side of a sadistic killer.

"You don't owe anyone anything, Draco," Harry goes on, because he feels like _he_ owes Draco this. The teen is an asshole in all forms, but he isn't a killer, and he certainly wouldn't be doing anything for Voldemort out of his own will. "And if you're doing what you're doing because someone is forcing you, then you need to grow a pair of damn balls and choose the side _you_ want to be on. You're a person, not a puppet."

Draco audibly swallows. For a moment, he looks like he's about to cry, but then he covers his expression once more, and something in Harry's chest feels better knowing the spark is back.

"Night, Potter."

Harry barks a laugh and takes a drag of his fresh cigarette.

"G'night, Malfoy."

 

Harry gets back to the Order’s dorm room just before breakfast starts. He spent the rest of his watch wandering the castle perimeter, smoking through a packet of straights and thinking endlessly about the blonde seventeen year old whom looks like he needs help. There’s always been a part of Harry that was fascinated by Draco, by his confidence and his childhood in the wizarding world. When he’d left Hogwarts, Harry had hated Draco as much as, if not more than, everyone else. he had been one of the main people who rove him out of Hogwarts, and Harry had never thought he’d see the blonde again. And now he has seen him again, Harry feels drawn to him like he’s never felt drawn to anyone before.

When he gets back to the dorm, he passes Lupin and Tonks in the doorway.

"Harry, how was last night?" Lupin asks.

Harry nods. "It was fine. Nothing happened, as usual."

"You look tired, kid," Tonks says. "Get some sleep and we’ll bring you some lunch, okay?"

"Thanks, guys," Harry smiles.

They leave and once again, he is alone. He sulks into the bedroom where him and Tonks sleep, feet heavy on the rugs and eyes stinging when he blinks. He’s tired, exhausted to the bone. He switches his jeans for some checkered pyjama pants, leaving the hoodie on and drops down on the bed. He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He dreams of a woman’s scream and a green flash of light. He feels his forehead burn even in his sleep, his scar aggravated by the visions he’s seeing.

Harry wakes up to something hitting his forehead, his scar already aching from the dream, and the first thing he see’s are large, green soup-bowl eyes.

He jerks back with a shout of fright, flying back on the bed. The back of his head smacks the wall with a crack, and his vision shutters white for a moment. He gasps, and it takes him a belated moment to realise what’s in front of him.

"Dobby!" He shouts, hand coming to cradle his throbbing skull.

"Harry Potter!" Dobby gasps, hands wringing in the bed sheets. His large eyes are round and stunned, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. "Dobby can’t believe you’re here! You’re _really_ here! Harry Potter is back!"

"Yes, Dobby, I’m back," Harry replies, rubbing his head. He sits up straighter, composing himself. "Blimey, Dobby. You scared the life out of me."

"Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter, Dobby didn’t—"

"It’s fine, don’t worry about it," Harry interrupts. He smiles, "How have you been? Why are you here?"

"Dobby works here now. Dobby was granted freedom after the Chambers opened by Miss Granger!"

Harry’s eyes widen. "No way. . . Dobby, that’s amazing! How did she do it?"

"She convinced Master Malfoy to give Dobby a sock," Dobby replies, and Harry has a feeling Hermione didn’t 'convince' Lucius Malfoy to give Dobby a sock, but instead _tricked_ seems more like a correct way to describe it. A bloom of pride flutters in Harry’s chest; Hermione always wanted what was best for the house elves.

"Congrats, Dobby," Harry says. "You deserve freedom. Or, at least, as much freedom as Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts is great, Dumbledore gives Dobby all the freedom, and clothes!"

Harry smiles. "You don’t need any new socks, then?"

He pushes himself up off the bed and checks the clock: it’s only 10:22. He’s been asleep for just over two and a half hours, and his head aches with more than the hit against the wall. He rubs his eyes, pretty sure he won’t get back to sleep if he tried. He grinds his knuckles into his eyes, his body protesting as he forces himself to go into the main room. There's no one there, as he expected. Sirius is most likely sleeping, Lupin is teaching, Tonks will be on watch with Moody or Bill. Dobby follows him, his expression still in awe and surprise as if he's come face to face with a famous idol - in a way, Harry supposes he has, maybe not an _idol_ though.

"Where have you been, Harry Potter?" Dobby asks as Harry drops down heavily onto the sofa.

"I went away, Dobby. I didn't live here anymore."

"Dobby couldn't find you. Dobby tried, oh, yes Dobby did— but you were gone, Harry Potter! Gone!"

"It alright, Dobby. I didn't want to be found, I was fine—"

"But you were not at Hogwarts! Harry Potter must have stayed at Hogwarts!" Dobby gushes, looking like his large tennis ball eyes are beginning to get wet with tears.

"I was safe, Dobby. I promise."

At that, Dobby seems to relax.

"Are you hungry, Harry Potter?" He asks. "Dobby can bring you some food."

"It's alright, Dobby, you don't need—"

"Dobby must look after Harry Potter. Harry Potter looks sick, he needs food—"

"All right, how about I come to the kitchen with you and get some food? You don't need to bring it to me, Dobby."

Being waited on by house elves still shakes Harry, arising goosebumps on his arms. He hates using people, and the idea of Dobby making and bringing his food - like Kreacher - reminds him pitifully of his life with the Dursley's.

Harry follows Dobby through the empty halls of the castle, thankful that classes have begun and no one is around to see him. There’s only one person in the whole school who he’d be willing to see and that’s Draco Malfoy; the boy he’s been thinking about since their conversation last night. Harry holds no fear of Draco if he is, as he suspects, a Death Eater. If anything, he holds worry, because some part of Harry is convinced that this is not Draco’s decision. Draco was always destined to be on Voldemort’s side because of his Slytherin heritage and his father’s previous loyalty to him, but Harry knows, if it came down to it, under all the bravo and the snide, Draco wouldn’t be strong enough to take a life. Draco is violent and manipulative, but he isn’t a killer, no matter how hard he might want to be to prove himself.

Dobby leads Harry to the kitchen, where they pass through a door in the entrance hall and follow the corridor downstairs to the basement. Harry finds himself in a room, underground, filled with colourful food-themed paintings. He watches Dobby approach one and tickle a pear on a painting of a fruit bowl. To Harry’s surprise, the pear giggles and turns into a large green door handle.

"Woah," Harry breathes, and Dobby looks over his shoulder, smiling sheepishly.

Inside, the kitchen is gigantic. It looks like a replica of the Great Hall: with high ceilings and five tables sitting in identical places to the ones upstairs. Brass pots and pans filled the kitchen, food preparation littering the surfaces.

A collection of gasps filled the room when Harry stepped through the door.

"Harry Potter!"

"Harry _Potter!"_

"It’s Harry Potter!"

Harry blinked at the sudden crowd of elves in front of him, all with large bat ears and tennis balls eyes like Dobby.

He held a hand and gave a weak shake. "Uh, hello."

"It _is_ Harry Potter!" Someone shouts.

"Yes, I’m Harry Potter," Harry replies wearily. He looks to Dobby, who smiles like this is going really well.

He eventually manages, after Dobby announces Harry needs food and the rest of the elves go manic, to help himself to some food (with the intense help of the elves who refuse to let Harry do it alone) and leave the kitchens. He thanks Dobby and the others, who all insist he must come back whenever he can, and he promises to come back at least once more before he leaves.

After Harry exits the kitchens, he has to walk back to the Order's dorms. He chose a good time once again, having been downstairs long enough to miss the switch over of classes. As he speeds through the corridors, Harry passes Snape, whom looks at Harry with the familiar glare and cold fire in his eyes. Harry slows, watching him and even looking after him as he swoops around the corner like a dark shadow. He hasn’t paid attention to Snape since he was rejoined into the Order. He remembers Dumbledore’s offer of Occlumency back at Grimmauld, and Harry wonders if it’s too late to take up the offer. He wants to know what Snape’s motives are. Dumbledore swears by his loyalty, but Harry has to wonder - what has Snape got a reason to be loyal to them for?

Despite the halls being quiet, as Harry passes the library to get back to the dorm, he’s so deep in thoughts about Dobby being in the kitchens in Hogwarts and Snape’s possible motives that he doesn’t see as someone briskly exits the library, stepping directly into his path. They collide head on, both letting out squarks and suddenly, Harry finds himself on the floor, head ringing.

He blinks rapidly in surprise, adjusting his askew glasses.

His stomach drops.

It’s Ron.

"Dammit, I am so sorry, mate. Bloody hell, I swear, I didn’t mean— oh," he cuts himself off when he too notices who he’s bumped into. Weakly, he adds, "Hey, mate."

Harry nods. "Hey."

Ron opens and closes his mouth a few times, he too sprawled out on his butt on the floor. Suddenly, he scrambles to his feet. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you, I just wasn’t looking and—"

"It’s fine, honestly," Harry interrupts. "Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t looking either."

Ron nods, seeming struck. He holds a hand out, and Harry reluctantly takes it. He’s yanked to his feet with force, almost falling over from the sudden pull to his feet.

"Sorry, mate," Ron apologises again, laughing. "Completely forgot how light you are."

"It’s fine," Harry repeats. His stomach is in knots. He wants to reach out and hug Ron, to pull him into him like he’d done so many times before he left. He has to remind himself why he’s mad, and is suddenly exhausted with the weight of it. The fire from the hurt has gone out, the ash and burnt wick useless and cold.

"I should, uh, g-go to class now," Ron stammers, the air between them thick and awkward.

"Yeah. Okay," Harry manages to choke out before he’s speeding past him and practically running back to the dorms. He doesn’t look back, but he feels Ron’s eyes on him until he rounds the corner.

 

_— tbc._

 


	8. List of My Problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took forrrreeevvveerrrr to finish, and I have no idea why but it's taken me months to get it finished. not a lot really happens, there's lots of dialogue that will hopefully help with relationship and character developments. I'm not good at developing people or relationships so if it's boring or unrealistic then comment below and I'll try to go back and improve it. 
> 
> anyways, hope you guys enjoy it! X

7

"I'm honestly surprised."

"What's so surprising?"

"Because you've never been to London."

"So? It's a Muggle city."

"Draco, everything wizard is there too," Harry deadpans. "How do you think people get to the Ministry of Magic?"

The blonde shrugs. "My parents have never taken me."

"Suppose they're a little preoccupied at the moment, ay?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry raises an unconvinced eyebrow and takes a drag of his cigarette. He's running low, but his attempt to cut down barely lasted him a day.

Draco rolls his eyes and huffs loudly. He eyes the half burnt rolled paper in-between Harry's fingers. "They're bad for you, y'know."

"I'm aware," Harry replies. He’s been making subtle hints about Draco’s family’s loyalty to Voldemort and their lack of Muggle nature. "I'm surprised you know that though, not too Muggle for you?"

"I'm not a bloody idiot. I know smoking is bad, people in the wizarding world do it too."

"Yeah, but they do it with cigars."

"There's a difference?"

Harry chuckles and exhales a cloud of white smoke. "It feels nice. You wouldn't understand."

"Let me try."

Harry raises an eyebrow again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Draco snaps impatiently, holding out his hand. "Give it to me."

"What's the magic word?"

Draco's lips turn in a scowl, but Harry just finds it funny. He hands it over when Draco mumbles a quiet and defeated 'please' and watches as Draco holds it, eyeing it like something completely foreign.

"Do you know how to—"

"Yes, I know how," Draco snaps. He meets Harry's eyes for a moment, skittish and nervous. Harry almost feels bad, moments away from snatching it back and telling Draco to stop, but then the Slytherin is bringing it to his lips and inhaling.

Draco's eyes widen for a moment, and when he pulls it away from his lips his shoulders and chest stay tense and lifted.

"Uh, Draco—"

He's cut off when Draco opens his mouth, and lets out a large, hacking cough. He chokes and sputters, tears streaming down his cheeks and shoulders shaking.

"Holy shit," Harry swears under his breath, struggling to stop himself from laughing and being reminded of the first time he smoked with Sammy - this was his exact reaction too. He takes the cigarette out of Draco's trembling fingers and rubs his back.

"You're such a twat," Harry says.

Draco looks up from where he's hunched over, glares through tear-filled eyes and flashes Harry his middle finger. Harry throws his head back and barks a loud laugh.

"Charming, aren't you?"

"That was nasty," Draco grumbles when he eventually catches his breath.

Harry laughs again. "You did it wrong. You're not meant to hold it in your bloody lungs."

"What was I meant to do?"

"Breathe it out, you bimbo! You're meant to breathe it and then breathe it out."

Draco rolls his eyes. "Whatever. It's dirty anyways."

Harry hums, satisfied and reclines back against the wall he was leaning on.

"I'm dirty, am I?"

Draco side-eyes him from where he was childishly glaring at the opposite wall.

"You're Gryffindor."

Harry rolls his eyes. "That's not an answer. And besides, I'm hardly a bloody Gryffindor anymore, am I?"

"What do you mean?"

"You can only be a Gryffindor if you graduate from Hogwarts."

"You were sorted into Gryffindor, though."

"Pretty sure if the Sorting Hat did it again it would change it's mind. I'm hardly a brave, selfless hero now. I'm just a dirty smoker, right?"

Draco rolls his eyes again and Harry nudges him with his foot. The blonde has proven himself so easy to tease.

Meeting Draco in the small hours of the morning becomes a frequent thing. In the end, Harry stops asking Draco every time why he keeps getting up and coming to find him, and instead begins enjoys the company. The more time they spend together, the more Draco’s shell of arrogance and brattiness seems to peal back and reveal his more soft, sensitive core. Harry always suspected that Draco wasn't as tough as he made up. Moments during their first year showed Harry that Draco wasn't as brave as he wished to be, and the act he gave off was more for his parents and the sake of his family name than for his actual personality. He was brought up like royalty, his family legacy blinding him, so it was inevitable be was going to be a pompous bully in school. It means something to Harry to know that after all this time, after all these years, Draco isn't hesitant to show Harry his _real_ side.

No matter where Harry finds himself on his night watches, Draco always finds him. It takes him a while sometimes, and a few times it gets so late that Harry suspects he won't show that night, but almost every time, Draco shows up.

Tonight, they're by the courtyard outside, sitting on one of the stone barriers along the corridor, between two of the posts . Draco has his legs over the edge, but Harry has his back to a post and his knees against his chest, looking across at the blonde instead of into the hall or across the courtyard. It's just gone four, which means Draco doesn't have long before he needs to sneak back into the Slytherin dorm rooms to avoid getting caught. Harry is half convinced if someone finds him out of bed with Harry they'll let it go with a demand he goes back to his dorm, but Draco insists on not getting caught.

The air is bitter and cold, March chill in full swing. Harry had cast warming charms onto his jumper and jeans so he didn't have to wrap up in coats and scarfs to avoid getting cold. The cigarettes, as dirty as they are, also help maintain warmth.

"So, have you. . ." Draco starts, looking down at his lap. Harry frowns, but can't ask before Draco goes on. "Have you spoken to Weasle and Granger?"

Harry quirks an eyebrow. "You're still calling them Weasle and Granger?"

"I can call them worse if you'd like," Draco growls.

"Hey, chill out, blondy," Harry snaps back. "I wasn't accusing anything, I was just saying. Makes me feel special, that's all."

"You're not special."

Harry feigns a hurt gasp and kicks Draco lightly in the leg.

"I am special, you heathen."

Draco rolls his eyes. "Answer the question, Potter. Have you spoken to them?"

"Why'd you want to know?"

"Are you trying to be difficult?"

Harry smiles smugly and sighs, stubbing out the dead cigarette bud. He knows he's stalling.

"No," he replies eventually. "I haven't spoken to them, not really."

"Is there a reason why?"

"Maybe the same reason I've avoided speaking to everyone?"

Draco frowns. "Is it because of second year?"

"What do you think?"

"I didn't realise that hurt you so much."

Harry opens his mouth, but decides he doesn't actually know what to say. "You wouldn't understand. It's. . . I guess it's more than just what happened with the Chamber of Secrets."

Draco nods. After a long moment, he adds, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Another night?"

Harry nods. "Another night."

"Did we just arrange another meet up?"

"I didn't realise we were arranging them," Harry replies, smirking. "I just assumed you loved me so much you’d just come find me."

"I don't love you."

"But you come and find me?"

"No."

Harry smirks. "Yes, you do."

"I don't."

"Then why are you here?"

Draco's lack of answer is enough for Harry.

"How long. . . how long are you guys sticking around for?"

"What, the Order?"

Draco nods.

"I don't know," Harry sighs, rolling the another cigarette in his fingers. "Until Dumbledore thinks it's safe enough for us to leave, I guess."

"People have said it will never be safe while he is out there."

"Maybe not, but that's why there are people, why _we_ , are looking for him."

Draco is wringing his hands together, and the more Harry watches, the more he wants to reach out and take them in his own, to tell Draco that it's okay to be afraid, despite of his house or his family name or whatever destiny or duty his father has put on his shoulders.

Harry hated his time with the Dursley’s, but at least for him the nightmare is over. For Draco, however, it's only just begun.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks softly.

"I'm fine," Draco replies, but it sounds so monotone and rehearsed Harry can't even _try_ to convince himself to believe the blonde.

"Do you want another go?" Harry asks, holding up the cigarette.

Draco frowns. "Definitely not. Why do you even do it?"

"It calms me, which is ironic because the nicotine actually makes your heartbeat faster," Harry replies, placing the cigarette between his lips and holding the tip of his finger to the other end. He feels the small surge of magic shoot to the end of his finger like a painless pin prick before the cigarette end warms and ignites. He inhales, the nicotine and smoke flooding his lungs.

When he lets out the exhale and leans his head back, he spies Draco watching him.

"What?"

"What you just did, can you do all magic non-verbally?"

Harry nods. "As far as I know. I've never had to use verbal spells before, but mind you, I've never had to use it for anything extensive."

"What else have you done?"

Harry looks at him quizzically. "What do you want to see?"

"Make fire again."

Harry smiles. He holds out his palm, keeping it flat. His palm tints blue for a moment, a bolt of magic shimmering down his wrist before a large flame ignites on his hand, his palm as if it’s been dosed in gasoline.

Draco's eyes widen. The orange glow from the fire giving his face some colour back, reflecting off his dark eyes. Harry closes his fist and the flame diminishes like air.

"Something else."

Harry muses in his child-like excitement and looks around. He pulls his cigarette box out of his pocket and throws it across the hall into the air. Before it can land on the corridor floor, Harry holds out his hand and it freezes in mid air. Draco gasps softly, unconsciously, and Harry sneaks a side glance at him before he rises his hand and the box slowly rises with it. He orders it to come back and it shoots into his hand like a bullet being fired. He catches it and holds it out for Draco with a smug grin.

"Impressed, Malfoy?"

The blonde huffs after a moment, but Harry knows he's struck: as everyone is when they see it. Nonverbal magic is extremely rare, and Harry has come to learn from books and people's reactions that it's very impressive and powerful. He was almost worried when Sirius and Remus had gushed for hours about his ability, about the significance of it. He didn’t need anything this abnormal about him that would give people to fear him.

"Can you do anything else?"

Harry thinks. Then, "Don't freak out."

"What?"

"I'm going to do something, but don't freak out."

"I don't 'freak out'."

Harry raises an eyebrow.

"Will it hurt?"

"No," _Not you, anyway._

Draco looks at him for a long moment, gaze intense and calculating. Harry knows he's reading him, looking for the lie or the plot or the menace. Harry does his best not to mask himself, something he's been trying and failing since his entry into the wizarding world again. It was something he began with Tammy, but with Tammy only he was able to overcome.

Draco must not find what he's looking for, and eventually nods. "All right."

Harry stumps out his half-smoked cigarette on the stone wall and sits up. He rubs his hands together, the tips cold as usual.

"Ready?"

Draco rolls his eyes. "Just get on with it."

Harry huffs but ignores him. He closes his eyes, summoning the magic inside him. He holds his hands out, arms stretched to the sides. Blue vines climb down to his wrists and around his hands, twining through his fingers like string. His veins sing, power soaring through him and he feels the force begin to form. Around them, a wall of white light begins to rise from the stone they are sitting on, enveloping them on all sides like a dome. Draco looks around in surprise, panic and uncertainty. The air crackles like it is electric, and the wall rises higher and higher until it is above their heads, reaching across to meet.

They are concealed completely in a white, shimmering ball. Harry looks around, his hands not dropping his but his arms relaxing as the field settled.

"What the. . ." Draco starts as he reached out. When his hands touched the white glitching wall, he felt as though a painless electricity was bolting through him.

"It's a force field, a kind of shield," Harry explains.

Draco is still gaping at the shimmering walls around them. "That's. . . that's. . ."

"Incredible? Amazing? Mind-blowing?"

Draco's drags his eyes away from the magic around them and looks blankly at Harry, who's grin only grows cheek-ishly. Draco rolls his eyes but he can't resist the tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Is at a _smile,_ Malfoy?" Harry gawks exaggeratedly. "Did I make _Draco Malfoy_ smile?"

"Shut up," Draco mumbles, and Harry is both mortified and surprised when he see's the dusting of cherry rose blush creeping up on his pale cheeks.

He lets the shield drop, the walls coming down like a curtain dropping as his hands sit in his lap. He feels the fatigue clipping at his muscles - the telekinesis seems to take it out of him much more than wand magic does other wizards.

He leans back against the stone pillar and picks up the half-burnt cigarette he'd put down to make the force field. He lights it again with the tip of his finger and continues to take drags.

"Are you okay?" He asks: Draco has been staring out at the dark courtyard for a few minutes, not making a sound.

Draco looks at him, his porcelain skin glowing in the moonlight. "I'm fine."

Harry breathes a laugh, shaking his head. He looks down at his watch. "You should be getting back soon, I know how much you worry about getting caught."

Draco sighs and nods. He climbs off the stone barrier and straightens his robes.

He looks up and meet's Harry's eyes, who smiles softly, "See you tomorrow night, Malfoy."

"See you, Potter."

 

The following night, it's snowing heavily outside so Harry and Draco find themselves sitting in the great hall. They're on either side of the Gryffindor bench, a bowl of salted crisps between them that Harry is happily munching on.

"You hungry?"

Harry looks down to find he's managed to eat half a bowl within minutes of it appearing through the table.

He nods sheepishly, shrugging. "I forgot dinner. Do you want any?"

"I don't think it'll last for me to get any," Draco murmurs.

Harry flips him off and the blonde smirks in reply. When Harry shoves a palmful of crisps obscenely into his mouth, Draco's face screws up in a disgusted grimace.

"Delightful," he says.

Harry grins, full-teeth. "One of the reasons why you love spending so much time with me."

Draco hums, teasing.

"It's so weird being in here when it's empty," Harry says, looking around.

Draco nods, following Harry's eyes. With the whole hall lit by the candles Harry had wordlessly ignited, the room is a dancing flicker of yellows and oranges. But without the other students, ghosts and overwhelming smell of food, it's strange even for Harry.

"The quiet is kind of unsettling," Harry adds. "I've never seen it like this before."

"I'm surprised you remember it all," Draco murmurs, reaching across and snatching some crisps out of the bowl. He drops them delicately into his mouth and munches them like he's eating at a civilised meal.

"What do you mean?" Harry asks, looking over at the blonde quizzically. "Why wouldn't I remember it?"

"Because it— it. . . y'know, it was a long time ago. . . I guess. . ." Draco stammers and stutters, surprising Harry with both his words and his uncertainty.

"Five years isn't really that much of a long time. Besides," Harry looks up at the ceiling that he remembers once shone a night sky of stars as if the ceiling wasn't there, a smile tugging at his lips, "places like this are hard to forget no matter how long you're away."

"It's not that magical."

"Not for you, _maybe_ , but for me it was all almost unbelievable."

Draco frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry looks down from where he was still looking at the ceiling and meets the Slytherin's level eyes. "Nothing bad, you just don't understand how incredible the world you live in is because you've been brought up in it. When I came here, everything was new. But _you_. . . you grew up in it, you've known it as normal since you were a child so it was never as incredible to you as it was to me. Things like the details in the Great Hall stand out more to me because I was brought up by Muggles and for 11 years, things like this didn’t exist."

Draco seems to consider this for a long, long moment. At first, his expression doesn't change, staying in the confused, defensive frown it had been. And then, he blinks and it's the sharp line of his mouth sags and softens.

"That makes sense, I guess," he finally admits.

Harry quirks an eyebrow and shoves a crisp into his mouth with a satisfying crunch. "Everything was so overwhelming when I first came here, I can't even describe it to you."

"I probably wouldn't understand anyways."

"Well, maybe you need to try living in the Muggle world for a week and you'll know exactly how it feels."

Draco's face screws up like he's eaten something bad. "Why in Merlin's beard would I do that?"

Harry shrugs one shoulder and smirks, "You'd be so bloody lost without magic. You don't understand how lazy wizards really are."

"Lazy?"

"Draco, Muggles have to clean things by hand, not a wave of a wand. So many things of you do with magic are long processes in the Muggle world."

Draco hums, nonchalant, almost bored, "How tragic."

Harry chuckles. "You wouldn't last a day."

Draco looks at him sharply and Harry full-teeth grins; cheeky and childish.

"You're an actual child," he says, his eyes unsubtly looking Harry up and down, "You're the size of one too, how convenient."

Harry gasps. "Well, that's quite rude."

"Quite _true_ , more like."

"Oh, piss off," Harry grumbles, eating the last handful of crisps and flicking a crumb at Draco across the table.

Draco flicks it off his robe distastefully.

"A child."

Harry flips him off as he leans back and looks down the table and empty benches.

"Do you miss it?"

Harry looks back to the blonde. "Pardon?"

"Do you miss it?" Draco repeats, motioning to the hall. "All of this."

Harry chews his bottom lip. "I guess. I kind of can't imagine coming back now, to study at least."

"Have you finally spoken to Granger and Weasle?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not since you asked me last night, no."

"Are you going to tell me why?"

"Are you going to make me?"

"Debating it. I'm starting to think the three of you need to be pushed into a broom cupboard and forced to sort out your problems."

"You don't understand," Harry replies, weak and wavering. He breaks the intense eye contact he'd maintained with the blonde and looks down at the table, focusing his eyes on a small knot in the aged wood.

"Then _explain it_ ," Draco leans forward, tone almost impatient. "Explain to me what the huge deal is with those two."

"It's nothing."

"If it’s nothing, then you can speak to them. They're dying to speak to you but they're keeping their distance because they think that's what you want."

"Maybe that is what I want."

"No, you it’s not. You're angry, yes, but you're tired of it."

 _You're damn right I’m tired of it_ , Harry almost snaps.

"I am still angry," he says. "They were meant to be my friends, they were supposed to have my back. They were the last people I would have expected to make me leave."

"They didn't make you leave, Harry."

"Would you have stayed?" Harry counters. "If the whole school was accusing you of killing people, of having an evil plot and being a Heir to Slytherin, would you have stuck around to see if they eventually decided to stop the rumours and the glares and the whispering?"

"No," Draco murmurs, "I wouldn't have stuck around."

"I went 11 years not having a family, and when I finally got one, I never expected them to turn their back on me," Harry says, missing Draco's flinch at the confession of not having a real family while he grew up - Draco, along with lots of wizards, believed for years that Harry Potter, the famous Boy-Who-Lived, lived in comfort and care and for him to come across as a spoilt child. But when Harry had turned up to Hogwarts, thin to the bone, a ball of shy anxiety afraid of making people angry with him, people had started to second guess their belief of Harry's upbringing. Draco has no idea what Harry's upbringing was like with the Muggle family Dumbledore handed him over to, but if he was to judge by the rags the Gryffindor came and went in during his first years and the subtle flinches he made at loud noises and touches, then Draco felt like he was at least kind-of in the know.

"I'm not mad at them anymore," Harry admits. "It was a long time ago, and Hermione wasn't even conscious for it, it's just I don't know how to act around them anymore. So much has changed, they're both so different and I. . ."

"They miss you," Draco says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Don't be an idiot, Potter."

Harry scoffs, brushing one of his unruly curled locks off his forehead despite that they fall straight back down after.

"Thanks for the motivational punch line, Malfoy," he replies. He chews his bottom lip anxiously, a ball of pressure sitting heavily on his chest. In a small, vulnerable voice that rarely shows anymore, Harry asks, "Do they really miss me?"

Draco tried to conceal his surprise: he hadn't expected Harry to show this side of himself. The teen has grown up so different, with such a cold hard exterior that it puts Draco's own to challenge, and it’s then that Draco realised how much the pair have opened up to each other, how Draco wouldn't think twice about spilling the emotions inside him threatening to bubble over, or how he doesn't feel ashamed to show Harry that he _is_ afraid, that he _is_ weighed down by the weight of the proposition laid on his shoulders.

"I know they do," Draco says finally, "because they were your best friends before you left and they're your best friends now."

Harry nods.

He breaks out in a sudden grin, "I didn't realise you had a soft side, Malfoy."

Draco rolls his eyes. He leans back on the bench, crossing his arms and looks at Harry. "I don't have a soft side. I'm a Slytherin and a Malfoy."

"Yes you do," Harry teases, cooing. "You're like a marshmallow. Crusty and hard on the outside but soft and fluffy on the inside!"

"Did you just call me crusty?"

"You can't deny it!"

"No, Potter—"

"You're soft!"

"Potter, I swear to God— sit down! What are you doing?"

Harry has got up, cackling loudly so it echoes.

"Draco Malfoy is soft! You're soft and squishy and fluffy and sweet!"

"Potter, get back here!" Draco hisses, climbing up himself to try and get Harry to sit down and shut up.

"Now that is not very soft, Draco," Harry pouts, stepping back as Draco steps forward.

Draco snarls, climbing onto the bench and stepping over the table. Harry squeals, running and doing the same to the table behind him, climbing over and turning around in time to see Draco already looming over him.

Draco reaches down, grabbing Harry's shoulder, only to have his hand fall through his air.

Harry has disappeared.

The Slytherin startles, letting out a gasp and hears a chuckle behind him.

He spins around and Harry is sitting on the table exactly where they'd been sitting before, grin so wide it could split his face.

"Surprise!"

Draco huffs, rolling his eyes and sulkily climbing back over the benches and tables to sit beside him.

"Apparition. I'm assuming you do that non-verbally too?"

Harry winks and his grin grows smugger.

When they've calmed down some, Harry looks down at his watch.

"You need to go soon."

Draco hums, standing up. He looks at Harry with a hard but heatless stare. "I'm not soft."

Harry smiles. "Of course not, you're fluffy."

Draco rolls his eyes and begins to walk towards the main doors. "Speak of this," he says as he goes, "and I will cut out your tongue."

"So violent!"

Draco flips him off over his shoulder.

When he's at the door, he looks back at the Gryffindor still sitting on the table, his feet on the bench.

"Speak to them," he says. "You'll feel much better."

Harry nods, and then Draco is gone.

 

A woman is screaming. It’s dark, Harry feels so small it’s like he’s on the floor, looking up at the looming room. He see’s a sweep of red hair. There are bars around him, like a prison cell. He can’t move. He can’t move. Someone is screaming again, shouting. Everything is so loud but also so far away, like in a tunnel. There’s someone else in the room. The screaming is getting louder. There’s a flash of green, a crack in the air so loud Harry feels like his ear drums are bursting. The person in front of him crumples to the ground like a puppet. A wand is suddenly inches from his nose. He can’t move out of the way. His forehead burns, his lungs seizing and chest collapsing.

The ground swallows him up. Suddenly, the pain is gone and everything is clear. He’s standing at the head of a long table, all eyes are on him. He recognises some of them, like Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. A woman is floating above the table, levitated in the air. He feels something against his leg and suddenly a large snake - Nagini his mind supplies - is slinking and slithering across the table.

He blinks, and it’s all gone. He’s above the table now, floating like the woman was. He looks down and Nagini is coming towards him. He can’t move, he struggles but it’s like he’s bound tight. His heart races in his chest. She’s getting closer. Closer. Closer. His scar burns. Harry opens his mouth to shout just as Nagini opens hers. Her fangs a long and sharp, inches from his face. They snap down—

"HARRY!"

He wakes with a gasp, but the air doesn't reach his lungs. His heart is pounding, his head is spinning. The ache is blinding, his forehead pulsing so hard it hurts. It spikes, his lungs seizing like he's trying to breathe underwater.

"—arry, breathe, kid. Come on, you're awake now. You're okay," Sirius is saying in his ear, but it takes a moment for Harry to swim above the shoreline and break the surface, sound flooding back.

He sucks in a shuddering breath, finally filling his lungs with bitter, crisp oxygen. It burns for a moment, but then the binds around his chest loosen and he can finally _breathe_ again.

"Merlin, kid," Sirius sighs, giving his shoulder a squeeze before he lets his hands, that had been holding onto Harry's shoulders to stop him from hurting himself during his thrashing, drop to on the sheets on the bed.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up with the damp from the sweat. He rests his cold hand on his forehead, his scar still burning like it's been branded into his skin.

He swallows around a dry mouth, his limbs shaking and his clothes cold with sweat.

"Here," Sirius says, holding a glass of water. Harry takes it with a trembling hand and downs the whole thing. It instantly eases the spinning in his head.

"Thank you," Harry rasps. His heart is still beating against his chest like a caged beast, fighting to break out.

Sirius reaches forward, stroking his wild fringe back off his forehead, something he's come to do more often since the pair have become more comfortable around each other. Harry closes his eyes, the fatherly action foreign to him but he's too shaken up and vulnerable to push it away.

"Are you alright?"

Harry nods. "It was just a nightmare."

"You're having a lot of those recently," Sirius replies.

"It's fine. This isn't the first time I've had a round of nightmares."

"Yes, but it's not just nightmares, is it?"

Harry opens his eyes and meets his Godfather's gaze.

"I can handle it."

"Harry, you look like Merlin's shit. I'm not kidding. These nightmares seem to really be taking it out of you."

"I'm fine, Pads," Harry sighs, rubbing his eyes. "You have nothing to worry about. Honest."

"Now, every time you say 'honest', I know you're bloody lying," Sirius says, "Your father used to do the exact same thing."

Harry looks up in surprise. "R-really?"

Sirius nods. "Whenever James was lying, he'd say 'honest'."

"Hmm," Harry smiles shyly. "I had no idea."

"How's your scar?"

Harry reaches up and rubs it unconsciously. "Doesn't hurt as bad as it did when I woke up."

Sirius is looking at him calculatingly.

"What's the time?"

"Just gone 11. Do you want to get some more sleep or get some lunch?"

"Neither," Harry replies, swinging his legs off the bed.

"You should eat," Sirius counters.

"I'm not hungry yet. I promise I'll grab something later though."

Sirius nods but he didn't convinced: James and Lily were never fat, always lean and on the skinny side, but not like Harry. Harry, not helped by his small height, is narrow and bony, gangly in his skeletal arms and legs. Normally, they're concealed by his clothes, but on the off time Sirius has been him in short-sleeves, he's been startled by the way Harry's elbow bones stand out and his wrists are small enough to wrap an entire hand around without touching the skin. Harry seems to eat small and irregularly out of habit, out of pattern and distraction.

He watches as Harry pulls on hoodie atop the sweatshirt he slept in.

"Harry, do you want to come to Hogsmeade with me and Remus?"

Harry looks up from where he was riffling through his duffle bag to find some clean jeans.

"Now?"

"In a few minutes, yes. Asking you that was actually the reason I was sent in here," he smiles.

Harry straightens up and nods. "Uh, yeah, sure. I'll just. . . get dressed."

"Great," Sirius says, standing up. He waits for a moment, seeming in limbo on what to do before he finally steps forward. He stands before Harry, less than an arms length away. Harry tries to hide his surprise as Sirius looks calculatingly, eyes tracing every inch of his face, flicking from feature to feature.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, voice hushed and quiet, almost shy.

Sirius nods. "Yeah," he whispers, "I'll see you in a minute. Wrap up, it's cold out."

Harry does wrap up. He feels the cold on a hot summers day, let alone a snowy winter one. A few minutes later, he steps out to meet Remus and Lupin and together they head out and to the village.

Instantly, Harry notices the other people on the path.

"Are there students going into Hogsmeade today?"

"It's seventh year visiting today," Remus replies. "Me and Moody are on watch."

"Oh," Harry says weakly.

"Are you alright?"

"What? No, yeah, I'm fine," Harry stammers distractedly.

He thinks back to what Draco said the night before:

_They're dying to speak to you._

_They miss you, Harry._

_They were your best friends before you left and they're your best friends now._

He doesn't know what he's supposed to do now. He hasn't been this torn in a long time, but Draco's words play hot and cold in his head. Should he give them chance? Should he ask _them_ to give _him_ a chance? Or, should he tell them to shove their visions of friendship where the sun doesn't shine?

He hasn’t been this unsure since he left Hogwarts and had to make the decision if he went back to the abuse with the Dursley’s or went out into the large London alone. He sometimes wonders if he was a fool, if he was careless and stupid. His time on the streets wasn’t exactly traumatic, but it certainly wasn’t comforting sleeping in the cold and stealing money from strangers.

"You’re thinking again."

Harry blinks and looks at his Godfather.

"Yes. It is a natural part of brain activity," he snarks, not intending for his voice to be so harsh.

Sirius blinks, his eyebrows hitching up in surprise - it’s not often Harry snaps at him anymore.

"Sorry," Harry sighs, shaking his head. He looks at the ground, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and shoulders hiked up around his ears. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. . ."

"It’s okay," Remus reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. "You must have a lot on your mind."

Harry hums in agreement but offers no verbal constellation. He feels sick with anticipation - as he has done since he arrived at this stupid school.

Before he realises, they’ve arrived at Hogsmeade village and Harry is looking down the high street crawling and crowded with Hogwarts students running to and from the shops.

The last time Harry walked around Hogsmeade, he was with Mad-Eye, Tonks and Lupin looking into the deaths of the Flumes and his eyes are instantly drawn to Honeydukes. Only a month ago he was there, standing above the floorboards where their dead bodies had fallen. He feels a tightness in his gut: that had been the beginning of the dangers around Hogwarts, the final straw that broke the feeling of security and safety that the castle had once guaranteed.

"We're going to go and get a drink in the Inn. Would you like to come or walk around?" Remus asks.

"I'll come with you guys," Harry replies, nodding and burrowing further into his jacket.

Inside the Inn is like walking into an exploding air bag of heat. It envelopes them all like a blanket, making their cold, icy limbs tingle as the warmth pinches it like pin and needles.

"You guys sit down, I'll bring drinks. Butterbeers for everyone?"

"Butter-what?"

Lupin and Sirius look at Harry like he's grown a second head.

And then, Lupin sighs. "Oh. Of course. It's a drink, you'll love it."

Harry nods, following Sirius to a table in the corner. He sits opposite his Godfather, pulling off his jacket that's damp from the cold outside.

"It's been so long since we've been here," Sirius says, looking around.

"I've never been here," Harry replies. The Inn is nice, dark and gloomy but with everyone inside and the atmosphere loud and bright it doesn't seem so joyless.

Sirius looks at him in surprise again. "Blimey. I guess you wouldn't have. You haven't come into Hogsmeade since we came here?"

Harry shakes his head.

"It reminds me of your father. We'd always come in here during trips and he'd go on and on about your mother."

Harry sits up in interest. Sirius rarely talks about his parents, rarely mentions them at all.

"Go on."

Sirius looks at him, his eyes sad but also nostalgic. Harry has become able to read his Godfather exactly how he tries to hide it from others.

"He'd plan dates, way to swoon her and impress her. They rarely went to plan, but somehow they seem they had worked. Your mother bloody hated him to begin with— hated all of us," Sirius explains. He looks up over as Lupin reaches their table. "Well, maybe not _all_ of us. No one ever hated Lupin."

"What?" Remus replies, placing down 3 large tumbles of a browny, gold liquid.

"Lily. She hated us to begin with."

Lupin seems startled for a short moment at the name but then he nods as he sits down.

"Yes. You and James were quite the assholes in early Hogwarts years."

"We were not!"

Remus scoffs. "Oh, I think you'll find you were."

Sirius rolls his eyes and sips his beer.

"So, how are you, Harry?" Remus asks. "I feel like we never see you much anymore."

It's true: Harry spends all his time during the day in the dorm room reading or wandering the castle in dark corners avoiding people, and he spends his nights on watch with Draco smoking cigarettes and talking about whatever comes to mind.

Harry nods. "I'm alright."

Remus looks at him like he doesn't believe him but knows better than to ask or prod. Harry likes that his Godfather and parents best friend don't continue to pester him like they used to when they first met all those months ago. It's like they've become used to Harry's mannerisms, like they know when to push and when to back off.

"How are finding being back in the castle?" Sirius asks, looking at him with the expression that Harry has also become familiar with and understands means _You're not getting out of talking to me today, kid._

Harry takes a deep breath. He shoves down the almost uncontainable urge to tell his Godfather to fuck off, to leave him alone. His defences only seem to dim when he's with Draco, which he doesn't want to analyse too hard.

He swallows hard. His emotions have been suffocating him lately - somethings he's managed to surpress over the years. Harry learned at a young age that the world likes to kick you when you're down, and combined with the years he spent with the Dursley's taught Harry that it's easier to have no emotion than let them control you. Tammy had been the only guardian in his life that Harry had let see him inside and out, the gritty and raw parts of his emotions that burst out with a exploding light or a flying plate as his magic flickered and jumped. Tammy was the only person who could hold him and calm him down. Maybe it was because she never tried to be his mother, because she never tried to be anyone but _Tammy_ , but Harry has never felt as safe anywhere as he had with her.

He realises with a heavy punch to the gut that he misses her dearly, and he would do anything to call her up and ask her to come home. But he can't, he _won't_ , because Tammy has given up enough time for him and he doesn't want her to give up anymore. He's 17, he's almost an adult, he can handle his own problems. If he could do it as a child, he can do it now.

"It's fine," Harry finally answers. "It's. . . weird, I guess."

"You don't spend a lot of time with anybody. We'd thought you have started hanging out with the kids from your year again," Sirius says, and Harry glares.

_Why the hell would they think that?_

"Why would you think that?" Harry asks aloud, eyebrows furrowed grimly.

"They were your friends, Harry."

Harry barks a cold laugh and rubs his eyes. He doesn't want to get in this now, not here.

"Sirius, stop," Harry hears Remus murmur. "Harry."

He looks up and meets Remus' large, kind, brown eyes.

"Kid, we didn't expect anything from you. We're just. . . we want you to be happy, you know that, and walking around alone and staying up all night can't make you happy."

"It's fine. I'm fine."

"It's not. Even if you don't want to see them, they want to see you, and so do we. We don't want you always being alone."

 _I'm not alone_ , Harry thinks, _I have Draco_.

He has to stop himself from laughing out loud. Harry never thought, in a million years, would he say that he has _Draco Malfoy_ above everyone else.

"I don't mind being alone," Harry replies, and it's not a lie. He has spent so much time alone, before Hogwarts, before Tammy, before now. Harry has been alone since his parents were killed on Halloween.

Remus flashes him a sad smile.

"Have you spoken to Ron and Hermione?"

Harry shakes his head. He feels to tired to be mad now, despite Remus being the second person to ask him this in the last 24 hours.

"I think you should," Remus say, and when he sees Harry on the verge of rolling his eyes, he jumps to add, "and I know you don't want to, and I get it, I really do. It hurt you when they didn't believe you, you felt betrayed and angry and you still are and that's okay. But Harry, that's how I felt when I thought Sirius help kill your parents. I hated him with every fibre of my being. I want to kill him myself. I can't describe to you the relief I felt when I found out he was innocent, but also the guilt. It consumed me as much as it had when you're parents had died and I'd done nothing.

"Ron and Hermione feel guilty. They know what happened was wrong, but, kid, you haven't given them a chance to explain to you. You haven't given them a chance to apologise and justify what they did and how _they_ felt."

Harry doesn't reply. He just looks at Remus, at the man he’s coming to consider the closest things he’s had to family since Tammy.

"We’re not pressuring you," Remus goes on, and Harry tries to push aside the patronising feelings catapulting at him - he knows Remus doesn’t mean it like that. "We just think you should know they’re not mad at you like you’re mad at them."

"I’m not mad," Harry replies quickly. And after a moment, he realises he’s right: he’s not _mad_ , he’s hurt and afraid. Hurt for what happened, and afraid of rejection and repetition. It’s hard to trust people when all anyone has ever done is betray you, and it’s hard to ask for forgiveness when all you’ve received for a long time is hate.

Remus smiles sadly, taking a moment to glance at Sirius beside him, whom has been silent since Harry snapped at him.

"You’ve had it tough, Harry. Tougher than anyone your age should go through," Remus says. "But, you don’t know how loved you really are, how much people truly care about you."

 

Harry repeats Remus’ words in his head for the rest of the day. His mind is constantly occupied with the thoughts and mental discussions arguing loudly between his ears.

He tosses his book down on the stone step he's sitting on, giving up reading for the third time. He can't focus. He can barely read the words, he's so wrapped up in fighting himself he can barely concentrate enough on lighting his cigarette and not his fingers.

Maybe Remus is right: he hasn't heard what they have to say, he doesn't even know what happened after he left. Hermione, at least, wasn't even conscious when it all happened. She was petrified, frozen stiff in a hospital bed. Harry didn't even know if she'd woken up, if she'd been _okay_. At the time, Harry hadn't even found it buried beneath the anger to care, the wound from the betrayal had him so blind. And after, when no one came after him was like pouring fuel onto the cut and lighting it. It ripped through Harry's core, a pure symbol of abandonment and relief that he was gone.

When he thinks about it, the anger sparks again like an old flame feeding of remenants of oxygen. He wants to hate them like he did before, he wants to wish them away and leave him alone like he had done the day Remus and Dumbledore has followed him to his flat. He wants to go back, to when he worked at the pub and went to college with Sam and the gang, and the only magic he had to worry about was when he absent-mindedly levitated things in the room he needed. Back then, everything was easy, and now, Harry feels like he's being torn apart. He hates inward arguments, he hates decisions and anxiety and thinking. He's always had trouble with convincing himself he's wanted around, and Tammy seemed to be the one who taught him that people don't remember to show you everyday, but they do want you around. It's moments, when Harry is sitting on the stone wall in the empty courtyard, that he wished Tammy was here once more.

Glancing at his watch, Harry knows that dinner will be ending soon and before he knows it he'll be surrounded by students and teachers, so he hastily jumps up, scooping up his battered book that's falling apart from being read too many times, and heads back to the Order dorm.

Harry's mind drifts when he walks, so much that he doesn't realise he's walking straight into someone until he's bouncing off them and his head is snapping up.

His stomach drops with a colossal weight.

"Ah, Potter. Of course. Still as incompetent as before, I see," Severus Snape sneers, standing like a tall tower of black. "Can't even walk properly."

Harry clenches his jaw. If he were 12, he would have had to fight not to cower in front of the man that resembled a reincarnation of his Uncle Vernon, but now, Harry has thicker skin. He doesn't fight to stand straight, he doesn't force himself to harden his eyes or clench his jaw. If anything, he forces himself _not_ to lash out and send the man flying into the nearest wall.

"Severus Snape," he replies, voice equally as cold. "Still in need of a bath, I see. Can't even wash your fucking hair properly."

Snape's eyes widen before they narrow, the intensity of hatred growing like a blazing fire in a forest.

"How dare you speak to me like that, _Potter_ ," Snape hisses harshly, seeming shocked to his core.

"Like what?" Harry replies. "Like one of the people here to protect _you?"_

Snape juts his chin out but doesn’t deny it. Harry finds some deep pleasure in seeing Snape speechless.

"How’s the visions, Potter?" He asks instead.

And at that, Harry’s thoughts stutter to an emergency stop.

 _What? Snape_ knows?

Harry narrows his eyes. "How do you know about those?"

"Dumbledore took the curiosity of explaining to me about your little field trips inside your mind," Snape replies. "I hear you also rejected Dumbledore’s offer to Occulmency lessons, to which I hope you are aware I did _not_ volunteer to give you."

"Good thing I rejected them then, isn’t it?"

Snape hums, but Harry doesn’t think it sounds like he’s agreeing.

"Do you understand, Potter, that by allowing these visions to continue you are possibly putting every single soul in this castle at danger?"

Harry tries to calm his racing heart. Hearing it aloud that he could be the reason, _another_ reason, that this is happening to the world makes his stomach seize.

"If I was to take up the offer of Occlumency lessons, what would they do?" He asks.

Snape takes a long, calculating look at Harry, his eyes dark pools. "They'd teach you how to close your mind to his grasp. The Dark Lord might not even be aware of what he is doing. For a long time, Potter, you were considered dead. It wouldn't come to a great surprise if he still believed you were."

The next words that come out of Harry's mouth shock even him, but he can't hold them back no matter how hard he tries.

"It wouldn't come to a great surprise to me if you'd told him already."

Snape's eyes widen comically between his black, slick curtains of hair. His already washed-out pale face seems to lose even more colour that it didn't have.

"How dare—"

"Tell me this, Severus," Harry ploughs on, not allowing the man to say another word. The anger suppressed inside him from those two years of nastiness from him explodes like a delayed grenade. "Do you think you could teach me as your student rather than James Potter's son?"

This seems to startled the man as much as it insults him. Snape takes a step back as if he was pushed, his mouth dropping open ever so slightly.

"Don't worry," Harry sneers, "I didn't forget the way you treated me because of how my father was to you in school."

Snape's eyes harden like ice.

"Potter—"

Harry can't stop himself anymore.

"I never knew my fucking father, so whatever problem you had with him, you’re a small damn man for continuing it with me. I’m not another one of your students that you can be cruel to anymore, _Severus_. I’m on your damn side and if you can’t see that, then maybe you’re not on our side as much as Dumbledore forces himself to believe."

And with that, he storms off before he can give the professor a chance to reply.

 

_— tbc._


	9. Snake Bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just want to remind you all that almost nothing in this story fits the canon timeline, so if it doesn't match the book then there's a reason why - and that's because I don't want it to :)
> 
> enjoy! x

 

8

The size of the Great Hall will forever fascinate and surprise Harry. Of all the places he’s been, no place has ever stunned him as much as the sight of the Great Hall for the first time. Heads turn and eyes look up when the doors open heavily and Harry Potter walks through. Conversations twist and mutterings grow louder. It’s been long enough now that the students don’t react hugely to the sight of the Order members wandering the castle, and even most of them don’t flinch at the sight of Sirius, but when they see Harry, it’s like the first time he entered the castle.

Harry doesn’t seem fazed, and he isn’t as he glides through the double doors and walks with stride down the middle of the isles. He goes straight to the other end, his hair falling in his eyes in dark curls, looking like he’s crawled backwards through a hedge. His clothes are a mix of scruffy and oversized but also quirky and smart, his black boots scuffed and dotted with dirt.

He doesn’t look at the students, but instead makes his way quickly and swiftly to the end of the table where the other Order members are sitting and eating. He sits next to Tonks, opposite Sirius and Lupin, who both frown at him as he sits down.

"Are you alright?" Sirius asks, putting his fork down. "You look pale, kid."

"I'm fine. My scar is just hurting a lot," he replies, crossing his arms and burrowing his neck down into the fabric of his hoodie.

Lupin and Sirius exchange concerned looks.

"Harry, how long has this been going on?"

"My scar hurting, or this bout of it hurting?"

Sirius rolls his eyes. "This bout."

"A couple of days," Harry shyly admits. He rubs his forehead as it spikes. He feels hot and achy, jittery but exhausted like he has a fever. "It’ll be fine. I’m sure it will go away."

"You should tell Dumbledore," Remus says. "This isn’t nothing, Harry."

"It is never nothing," Sirius adds. "Lupin is right, you need to tell him."

"I think he already knows," Harry murmurs, nodding across the hall. "Look."

The two adults look over their shoulders and to the main table, and to Harry’s prediction, Dumbledore is looking over at them, his expression deep-in-thought.

"It’ll be fine," Harry goes on, his eyes blinking almost lethargically. He lays his head down on his arms and closes his eyes. "It’ll go away soon."

Above him, Sirius and Lupin exchange another worried glance.

"Harry," Sirius says, and the teen hums in reply without raising his head. "Are you hungry? You should probably eat something."

"M’ not hungry."

"You must be," Lupin argues, "because I know you didn’t eat the food I brought for you this morning."

Harry shifts his head and looks at Lupin through one eye. "Snitch."

Lupin grins smugly. "Only because you know I’m right."

"Mm," he hums, rubbing his forehead. "Whatever."

"Come on," Lupin says, grabbing a bowl and filling it with some broth. "Even if it’s just half a bowl of tomato soup."

"You only eat soup if you’re sick," Harry argues, lifting his head again. If possible, he’s messed his already messy hair up even more.

"Well, you look sick, so good enough," Lupin replies, thrusting the bowl at him. "Now, bloody eat."

Harry rolls his eyes half-heartedly, but eats half the bowl none the less.

Tonks and Bill, who had been busy talking to Kingsley about something, turn to Harry, Sirius and Lupin as Kingsley gets up to leave.

"Oh, hi, Harry, it’s been a few days since I saw you," he frowns suddenly, "Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry nods, filling his mouth with soup.

"His scar is hurting," Sirius answers, and Harry’s head snaps up to glare at his heatedly.

"'M fine," he adds, voice snappish.

"You’re scar is hurting and that is _not_ fine," Sirius snaps back. He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair.

"It’s not good when your scar hurts, is it?" Tonks asks, nodding at Harry, "It hurts when he. . . y’know."

"Yeah," Lupin says sadly. "It never hurts without reason."

"Can we stop talking about it now?" Harry asks, pushing his half empty bowl away with a huff.

"Harry—"

"I said, can we stop fucking talking about it? It’s my scar, it hurt a lot before you were around and it will hurt a lot more after you’ve all gone, so let me fucking deal with it, okay?"

Harry’s voice had risen enough to catch the attention of a few Ravenclaw students at the end of their table and when they turned around to look, Harry’s face burned bright red and he ducked slightly, shoulders slouching.

"Please," he adds with a broken, defeated whisper, looking at Sirius and Lupin almost desperately, "can we just. . . not talk about it right now?"

Sirius and Lupin look at him for a long moment before they both nod.

"Okay, as long as you promise to come to one of us if it gets worse."

Harry nods.

"Promise."

 

His scar stops hurting by the afternoon after a whole morning of disturbed sleep and nightmares. So when Harry comes into the dorm room the next morning, having spent all night up with Draco, he doesn’t desire the idea of going back to bed and witnessing more of Voldemort’s mental torment. Instead, Harry walks straight back out and heads to the library. He spends most of the day in there, after finding a book about magical beasts that make him feel like he’s back in Hagrid’s class. He reads for so long he loses track of time and he finishes the book before he’s done reading. He gets up to put it back, and on the way to the shelf when he sees Neville.He’s with another girl, and they’re heading straight for Harry.

He doesn’t get out of their way in time, and Neville’s eyes meet his a mere moment before the taller boy gasps.

"Harry!" he says, and despite Harry being around them for a few weeks now, he is still endlessly baffled by Neville’s transformation from when he was 12. Harry is reminded every time he’s seen his fellow students like Neville that he wasn’t angry with _everyone_ , just the majority. Harry suddenly feels guilty for not meeting with Neville earlier, but instead he’s been avoiding him like he’s avoided everyone else. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks as he gapes and stammers a reply.

"Oh, h-hey, Neville. I. . . uh—"

"It’s good to see you, Harry," Neville is smiling, his face a void of anger or disgust towards Harry like he expected, either for the reason he left five years ago or his lack of kindness since he came back.

"You too, Neville," Harry replies weakly, managing a smile. "You look different— a g-good different, though. I—uh. . . sorry. _Shit_ , sorry, Neville, I didn’t mean—"  
"Woah, it’s okay, Harry," Neville’s eyes widen with surprise, but he laughs lightly and shakes his head. "You don’t have to be sorry for anything. It’s all good."

Harry nods shakily. He can feel his hands trembling in his pockets. "Right. All good."

Neville claps him on the shoulder kindly before he looks to the shorter girl beside him and blushed vigorously. "Uh, Harry, this is Luna. L-Luna Lovegood. She’s in the year below us."

Harry looks to the light blonde girl beside Neville, who smiles gently and says in an even softer voice than expected, "Hello, Harry. It’s lovely to finally meet you."

"You too," Harry nods. His heart is in his throat, thrumming and racing. He shoves his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. He feels like a fool, and an ass. You can never stay mad at Neville.

Neville catches sight of the book in his hand.

"Hey, you read that? That’s one of Luna’s favourites!" He says, a beaming smile glowing his face. His cheeks flush a deep red again out of embarrassment and he spares a sheepish glance at Luna.

Luna smiles. "It is. Are you interested in animals, Harry?"

Harry looks at the cover. "Uh, not really. I just. . . like reading."

"Reading is good for the soul."

Harry smiles. "I guess it is."

"It’s good to see you, Harry," Neville says. "People never stopped talking about you, y’know."

That doesn’t make Harry feel any better about being back. People never stopped talking? That’s not a good thing. Whether it was good talk or bad talk, it’s still attention Harry doesn’t like or isn’t used to.

"O-oh," he stammers. "That’s. . . nice."

"Ron and Hermione really missed you too."

Harry feels his mouth go dry.

"I didn’t know if they would."

"What?" Neville frowns. "Of course they did— they still do. They were your best friends, Harry. In fact, all of Gryffindor missed you. You were part of the family."

 _Part of the family._ Harry hasn’t felt like he’s part of a family since he met the Weasley’s and had that year and a half of blessed affection. He’s had Tammy, but she’s always been more of a older sibling that a mother.

"It was good seeing you, Neville," Harry says, beginning to walk around them to put his book back.

Neville catches him on the arm and Harry barely suppressed the urge to flinch in surprise.

"I'm sorry too, for what happened," he says, his eyes so honest and clear. He's so much taller than Harry, looking down on him. "You didn't deserve any of it, and I'm sorry no one believed you. I'm sorry _I_ didn't believe you."

"Do you still believe it now?"

"What? No! Of course not, Harry."

"Are you still scared?"

Neville blinks. "No, I'm not scared of _you_ , but. . . your magic did throw Draco down a corridor."

"So you're scared of my magic?"

"I think intimidated is a better word."

Harry smiles slightly. "Good. Keep it that way. See you, Neville. Luna, lovely to meet you."

"Ditto, Harry," she says softly before Harry is pulling out of Neville's grip and going to his shelf.

Harry ends up spending the whole day in the library. It's after dinner by the time he puts back the last book, his head throbbing with pain that he excuses for his lack of food and the strain on his eyes from focusing all day.

It's after dinner by the time he wanders back to the Orders dormitory. The headache behind his eyes grows from a pulsating throb to a spiking pain. Harry tried to ignore it, but the further he walks the more it grows and the more he recognises the pain.

His scar is _burning_ like someone has placed a fiery brand on it.

Harry is almost at the dormitory room when the pain spikes again. It feels like sharp marbles are rolling around in his head, pulsating with every step he takes. He stumbles, letting out a hitched breath. His vision flashes white, he feels like he can barely keep his eyes open.

His heart is hammering, his chest feeling like an army is marching on his ribs. His skin feels hot, his whole head burning.

 _Not now_ , he thinks. _Please, not now. The nightmares have been enough, not this too._

He can barely keep his legs from buckling. With every step, his knees feel stiff and weak, his balance completely overwhelmed with vertigo. He reaches out, a hand scraping against the stone castle walk.

He's falling further under. He can barely keep his eyes open, his vision focused on the corridor in front of him.

His head is spinning, the world tipping on its axis. He stops, his legs trembling underneath him so bad he's sure his knees are visibly quaking.

He holds onto the wall, trying to breathe through his nose but his chest is so tight, as if a rope has been wrapped around it and is just pulling and pulling and pulling. Panic is taking hold with it's cold, icy talons.

He hears the ring of a wicked laughter over the roaring of his blood rushing to his ears. He thinks he hears his name, but everything sounds like he's in a tunnel. The only thing Harry is aware of how his forehead feels like it's splitting open.

And then the floor is coming up to meet him.

 

Sirius hasn't seen Harry all day when he runs into Lupin, Ron and Hermione outside the Order dorm room. Frowning and coming from speaking to Minvera and Mad-Eye Moony about any recent activity with the Death Eaters and the Dementors, Sirius walked up to the trio who stopped talking as soon as he was close.

"What's going on?" He asks.

Lupin flashes him a reassuring smile. "Nothing. I was just telling Hermione was she needs to do to keep up the good work. Is everything alright?"

"Fine. Have you seen Harry?"

Sirius supposes it is a tender subject to bring up in front of Hermione and Ron, but he's starting to get worried.

"No, not since I saw him come back from watch this morning," Remus frowns. "Has he not been sleeping?"

"No, I was in the room all day and he hasn't been in there. He also wasn't at dinner."

"Is everything okay?" Hermione chimes in, looking between the two adults. "Is there something concerning about Harry not being seen for a few hours."

Sirius opens his mouth, but quickly closes it. Can he tell them about Harry's ability?

"He hasn't been very well for the past few days," he says, ignoring Lupin's gaze out of the corner of his eye and instead looking at the teenagers.

"Unwell?" Hermione frowns. "Is he sick?"

"What's wrong with him?" Ron asks.

Sirius meets Lupin's eyes. The big question of _do we tell them?_ hanging between them.

"Have you been able to speak to Harry yet?" Lupin asks.

Hermione shakes her head. "We want to, but we haven't approached him yet."

"We think we should wait for him to come to us, to show that he's ready," Ron adds.

Sirius nods - he guesses that makes sense, though he doubts that Harry is going to go to Hermione and Ron first. Sirius is no longer aware if Harry is avoiding his old housemates and best friends due to the linger anger of what happened or because of his own insecurities in their friendships and his confidence is keeping him from approaching them for fear of rejection. From what Sirius has heard and learned about Harry’s upbringing before Hogwarts, he didn’t have the confidence boosting, comforting childhood that the majority of the children around him did. Instead his self-esteem and image of himself has been crushed over and over again by the guardians he was placed with and the rumours that were spread about him around a world he had no idea he was part of until he was 11. And even after Hogwarts, while Harry has described him upbringing with Tammy to be so much better, he was still running away from the problems he was chased away with at Hogwarts.

Sirius’ thoughts are interrupted when Lupin grabs his arm, looking over his shoulder at something behind them. Sirius follows his eyes, and feels his stomach drop to his feet.

Just before the dormitory door, Harry is standing, breathless and eyes clenched shut as if he’s in pain. His skin is so white he’s almost translucent, his eyes are sunken and bruised like a corpse, his lips the same pallor as his ashen complexion. He’s swaying where he’s standing, visibly shaking and only appearing still upright because of the support of the stone castle wall.

"Harry?" Sirius calls out at the exact same time Harry lifts his head, looking over at them. And then, his eyes are rolling to the back of his skull and he’s collapsing like a sack of bones.

Sirius is running before he’s even aware of it. He’s shoes are skidding on the floor and he’s dropping to his knees beside Harry, who’s breath is hitched and choked and his through the fluttering slits of his eyes can only see the white.

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione cry at the same time, following the two adults to their friend.

"Harry?" Remus says, crouched on his other side. He looks around, then at Sirius. "We need to move him. We shouldn’t let this happen here."

"' _This_ happen'?" Ron quotes, looking between the two, eyes wide and bewildered. "You guys know what’s happening?"

"It’s different every time," Remus answers, "but vaguely, yes we know what’s happening. Sirius, we need to move."

Sirius unconsciously ignores him, too focused on watching Harry’s lips move without making a word and his eye lids twitch as if he’s stuck in a nightmare.

"What _is happening_ then?" Hermione cries.

"Sirius," Lupin snaps, and finally, the other adult lifts his head. "Let me move him."

"Okay," Sirius whispers. He quickly clears it, nodding and more surely repeating. "Okay. Okay, yes."

Remus nods and quickly, and worryingly easily, scoops Harry isn’t his arms and lifts himself to his feet. Harry flops limp like a wet rag, neck snapped back and his head hanging. His chest heaves, sputtering and spasming. Hermione doesn’t hesitate to push Harry’s head up and lay it against Remus’ shoulder, making him look like a small child instead of a teenager-going-on-adult. Sirius opens the door to the Auror dormitory, which is activated by their specific wands. The door opens and the four usher in.

"The couch," Sirius croaks, going to the water jug in the corner. "Place him on the couch."

Lupin wordlessly lays Harry down on the couch, cradling his head so it doesn’t uncomfortably snap back as he lays him down. He makes sure Harry is on his side, just incase he seizes like he did last time - the thought of last time makes Remus pray wherever Harry is he isn’t under the Cruciatus Curse this time. Feeling helpless and scared, Lupin pushes the wild curls off Harry’s forehead and feels the heat coming off his skin.

"He’s burning up," he shouts to Sirius, who instantly disappears into the bathroom.

Sirius comes back to the couch, a damp cloth and a glass of water in his hands. He places the cloth on Harry’s forehead, the grass on the floor for when he comes around.

"Come on, kiddo," he murmurs, throat thick and dry.

"Is someone going to explain what the bloody hell is happening now?" Ron curses.

Lupin looks at the teens standing a distance away from the couch, close to each other as if subconsciously seeking comfort.

"We’ll let Harry explain when he wakes up."

"Wakes up from _what?"_ Ron cries, throwing his hands up.

"From _this_ ," Lupin snaps. He sighs when he recognises the fear in their expressions: he’s sure he’s mirroring the same. "Please, we’ll explain. We just need to make sure he’s going to wake up."

Hermione nods shakily, and Lupin doesn’t miss the way her hand slots into Ron’s.

Focussing on Harry, Lupin isn’t comforted that the teen is still as pale and as ashen as before, but barely another minute passes before he’s letting out a raspy gasp and his entire body seizes before falling slack.

"Harry?" Sirius murmurs.

Long eyelashes flutter and soon their peeling back, his eyes rolling back forward and green, unfocused iris’ stare head.

"Harry, kiddo, are you with us?"

Harry blinks sluggishly, eyes rolling for a moment as if he’s going to go back under. And then, he suddenly stiffens, eyes snapping open and he gasps. "Arthur."

Sirius blinks. "What?"

"Arthur," Harry repeats, voice a painful croak. "Arthur’s hurt."

Sirius and Lupin exchange a look.

"Arthur. . . Weasley?" Lupin asks.

"My dad?!" Ron cries.

Harry looks to Sirius, tears huge in his eyes. "Nagini’s attacked him. He— Sirius, we have to go— he’s hurt—"

"Okay, okay, kid," Sirius tries to push Harry back down but despite being weak from the vision Harry’s panic and fear for the family father has him desperate to get up.

"Sirius, it’s Arthur—"

"I know, I know. Remus, get Dumbledore. Harry, we’re going to fix this. You need to calm down—"

"What’s going on?" Ron shouts, high with hysteria. "Lupin, Sirius, what’s happened to my dad?"

"I don’t know, Ron! Just wait—"

"Harry, what’s happened to my father!"

"Ron, wait—" Hermione tries, but Ron is shoving out of her grip and running to the couch.

He crouches down, "Harry, what just happened? How do you know my father is hurt?"

A tear rolls down Harry’s colourless, pale cheek and he stares at Ron, eyes so wild he has never resembled a child so much than in that moment.

"Ron. . ."

"Harry, what’s happened to my dad!" Ron screams, grabbing Harry by the collar of his sweatshirt.

Sirius and Hermione jump in like a flash. Sirius grabbing Ron around the shoulders and none too gently throwing him away onto the floor. Hermione fails to catch him and he goes backwards, flailing to the carpet. Sirius turns to Harry, gently grabbing his shoulders and making him look at him.

"Harry, what did you see?" He asks carefully but urgently.

Harry’s breath is rushed and hitched, as if in the middle of a panic attack.

"Nagini attacked Arthur," he whispers. "She. . . he’s at the Ministry. I don’t. . . I d-don’t know what he is doing there but Voldemort—"

"All right, kiddo, all right," Sirius murmurs gently, "That’s good enough. That’s fine."

"Arthur. . . he. . ." Harry’s voice cracks and he swallows almost audibly, closing his eyes.

"I know," Sirius gently rubs his shoulder. "It’s okay."

"It’s not okay!" Ron cries. "My father—"

"Ron, please, stop," Hermione says. "Can’t you see Harry—"

"Saw what happened!"

"Exactly! Give him a minute to calm down, you utter cretin!" Hermione snaps. Silence falls around them, Ron seems abashed Hermione both snapped and called him a 'cretin' in the same sentence. Sirius can barely keep the smirk off his face, and Hermione catches it before he manages to turn back to Harry.

"Here," he picks up the water and gives it to Harry, "Drink something."

Harry takes the glass but he holds it limp in his lap, not bringing it to his lips. His eyes are still distant, unfocused.

"Hey, Harry," Sirius says, and Harry’s eyes reluctantly glide over to his. "It’s okay, kid. You’re awake now."

Harry just nods.

 

Arthur is admitted to St. Mungo’s hospital and as soon as Dumbledore gives the all clear, Lupin, Harry, Hermione and the Weasley children transport from Hogwarts to the hospital. Sirius stays at the school with Tonks and Moody, whom had both gone to the Ministry to retrieve Arthur but needed to return to Hogwarts to guard it while the other Order members accompanied the Weasley family at the hospital.

When the group arrive at the hospital, Molly is already in with Arthur and the nurse quickly ushers the Weasley children (and Hermione) into the room. Harry and Lupin remain outside, sitting in the waiting chairs. It’s a long time before either of them find something to say.

Lupin breaks the silence.

"Are you okay?"

Harry nods, but doesn’t say anything.

Lupin looks across at him: he’s still white as a sheet, his hands shaking where they’re clenching and unclenching in his lap, his shoulders twitching as if they’re trembling.

"It’s okay if you’re not."

"I’m fine," Harry murmurs, but it’s weak and wavering. "Do you think. . . do you think Arthur is going to be okay?"

Lupin looks from Harry to the door and back again. He meets Harry’s eyes, not wanting to lie to him. "I don’t know, but Moody said because of you they got to him in time, so that’s a good start. Just think about that, okay?"

"Okay."

They fall into silence again.

Harry explained to Dumbledore, in front of Moody, Lupin, Sirius and Kingsley what he saw in his vision once he was with it enough to talk. He managed to gather himself worryingly quickly in front of the other Order members to explain what he saw. Lupin was horrified, so much that he doesn’t need to hear Arthur’s version of events to know that he was attacked brutally by Nagini and left to bleed to death. What Lupin _is_ concerned about is that the visions take a lot out of Harry and how the teen hasn’t had a chance to recover since he went from breathing himself out of a panic attack to explaining it all again to coming to St. Mungo’s. Lupin knows all the Weasley children dozes and snoozed in the Auror common room while they were waiting for news on their father, but Harry hasn’t slept a wink in longer than Lupin knows he suspects.

The attack on Arthur took place in the evening, and it’s not till the following morning that the nurse appears to kick the Weasley children out of Arthur’s room.

Lupin and Harry stand when they come into the waiting area.

"What’s happened? Is everything okay?" Lupin asks.

"Everything’s fine, the nurse just wants to check him over," Bill answers. "The stitches aren’t working due to the venom, so they’re having to keep him topped up with Blood Replenishments until they can find a cure."

"That doesn’t sound fine," Harry mumbles, hands tucked into his sleeves.

Bill smiles assuringly. "It sounds worse than it is. He’s going to be alright, Harry."

Harry nods, but his eyes are glued to Ginny and Ron, who both look like their worlds have crumpled down on them. Harry supposes they have: neither of them have had anything like this happen to a close relative. The probably don’t even know how to process one of their parents being in hospital.

"Why don’t we go and get you guys some drinks and something to eat," Remus offers. "Harry, you coming?"

"Sure."

"Let me help," Bill begins to step forward, but Lupin quickly holds him by the arm.

"You should stay here with your siblings. I think they need you right now," he says quietly, and with a quick glance back at the pair huddled by Hermione, Bill nods at the older man.

"Okay. Thank you, Lupin, Harry."

Harry nods wordlessly and follows the professor out.

Downstairs, they get everyone a takeaway cup of tea (apart from Harry, who gets himself a coffee). While Remus is filling the cups from the self-catering machine, Harry scouts around the gift shop. He isn’t sure how he’s feeling or what he’s doing. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s having a complete out-of-body experience and not in a good way. He feels _numb_. Every time he closes his eyes, he can see Arthur, on his back on the floor, arms futilely attempting to block the bites and lunges of Nagini. His stomach churns and he can barely keep himself from gagging. He’s so tired, his head spinning and his forehead aching like he’s been physically struck. He can’t get Ron out of his head, the helpless look in his eyes when he was thinking about his dad, the terror and the panic in his wild screaming. His chest aches when he thinks about his oldest friend, and Hermione, who appears to just as part of the Weasley family as their own bloodline and was as torn up about Arthur as the rest of them. Harry doesn’t know how he feels about the pair yet, but he does know between Draco and Neville’s assurances and the urge Harry had to comfort Ron when they went to the hospital, Harry knows for sure now that he hasn’t missed anyone like he misses his two old best friends.

Harry doesn’t know with what he’s feeling now. The back and forth thinking has made his already pounding headache amplify like it’s being bellowed through a speaker. He doesn’t know what he can do to make this right, to destroy the raft between the three of them. Walking around, Harry picks up all the sweets he remembers Ron loving from their first year and a half together at Hogwarts. He pours the handfuls of Chocolate Frogs, Every Flavour Beans, Jelly Slugs, and many more into a brown bag. It’s like a wizarding world Pick and Mix and the reference to his Muggle home life reminds Harry that he is in debt to a phone call to Tammy soon.

"What you got there?" Remus asks when Harry comes back over to help him carry the drinks and food back.

"A peace offering," Harry replies.

Lupin frowns. "For what?"

"For Ron and Hermione."

Harry looks up before Lupin can school his surprise.

"What?" Harry asks, on the verge of a defensive snap.

"Nothing," Lupin shakes his head, a small smile quirking the corner of his lips. "I just. . . it’s good."

"What’s good?"

"You. You, Harry. _You_ are good."

Harry rolls his eyes and bumps Lupin’s shoulder. "Come on. They’ll be waiting."

Upstairs, Bill is sitting where Remus and Harry had been sitting while Ron and Hermione are sitting a while away, enough that their mutterings can’t be heard.

Harry hands Bill his tea and one of the sandwiches, the older wizard sighing a grateful _Thank you so much_ before he’s guzzling the tea like a deprived alcoholic being handed a glass of vodka.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks him.

Bill nods. "I’m fine. Are you? After what happened. . . you still look awful peaky."

Harry nods, and ignores the way the action makes him feel like he has a dozen marbles rolling around in his skull. "I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.

He looks around while Lupin sits down.

"Say, where’s Ginny?"

"She’s gone to the toilet I think," Bill replies.

"Has anyone told Fred and George?" Harry asks.

"I imagine someone has gone to tell them in person," Bill murmurs, shoulders slumped as he sips his tea. "Since the Ministry, most of the businesses in Diagon Alley have closed and boarded their windows in case of an attack. I think the only time the twins listened to mum was when she told them they had to close as soon as possible and their ties to Hogwarts and Dumbledore put them at more risk than the other shop owners. They closed the same day as the Ministry went under."

"Where have they been?" Harry frowns.

"They’re still at the shop, I think. They’ve been pretty quiet lately, which is worrying in itself."

Harry chuckles and looks down the end of the hall where Ron and Hermione are sitting next to each other, shoulders touching, heads ducked, and bodies turned towards each other.

Harry feels like he’s intruding as he walks over to them, but when they look up, their eyes red-rimmed and slightly puffy, Hermione flashes him a small smile.

Harry holds up their teas and two pastries. Hermione takes it all from Harry, thanking him and urging Ron to take one of the teas.

Ron is looking up at Harry. His eyes not hard or hating but they’re still unreadable.

The confidence and determination Harry built up diminishes like dust in a mere second. He’s suddenly worried, scared and embarrassed. What if Ron doesn’t accept his form of apology? What if he tells Harry it’s too late? What if he tells Harry that he never stopped believing the horrible rumours from their second year? Harry’s head swims with anxiety, his hands shake in his pockets and his knees quake underneath him.

He forces himself to move, and before he knows it he’s standing in front of Ron and Hermione, both of them staring up at him.

After a minute of silence, Ron opens his mouth, but it’s like a starting gun inside Harry and suddenly, he’s blurting:

"I’m sorry," he says, the words almost choking him up. "I. . . I’m sorry."

"What?" Ron frowns. "What are you sorry for?"

"Everything," Harry says weakly. He holds up the paper bag of sweets he pulls from his jacket pocket. "I got you this. A peace offering. You don’t need to say anything now, but I realised last night and this morning that I’m not angry at you and I’ve been such an ass to the both of you and I’m just. . . I don’t want you to hate me, but I understand if you do and—"

Harry is interrupted by Ron standing suddenly and initially, Harry thinks he’s about to swing for him. Mortified, Harry barely resists the flinch that almost consumes him before Ron is, instead of hitting him as he expected, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and yanking him into a hug.

Harry is stunned speechless. The hand holding up the bag drops weakly and he takes a moment before he remembers to hug back, immediately wrapping his arms around the red-head.

"You’re a bloody idiot, y’know that?" Ron murmurs into his ear. He pulls back, smiling at Harry. "You didn’t need to get so worked up, mate. If anyone should be apologising, it should be us, me even. What happened to you. . . what we let happen to you, it’s cruel and unforgivable. You have every right to be angry with anyone and everyone."

Harry shakes his head. "Not you. You guys didn’t do anything."

"We did, Harry, because we let it happen and we didn’t find you after. You were _missing_ , Harry."

"I was fine," Harry feigns. His chest feels tight still, but he thinks it’s with something good instead of the crushing anxiety he felt before. He looks down and smiles shyly, "Hey, Hermione."

She smiles up at him, eyes shining with fresh tears. "Hey, Harry."

She jumps up as fast as Ron, leaping into him and hugging him hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

"Bloody hell, Mione," Ron says beside them, "Try not to bloody strangle him."

"Bag it, Ron," Hermione murmurs into Harry’s shoulder in reply, not letting up her grip in the slightest. "God, I missed you, Harry. You have no idea. When I woke up from the Chamber and heard what’d happened. . ."

"She went ballistic, mate," Ron adds, nodding. "Absolutely barking mad."

"I’ve never been so angry before. I wanted to leave, to go and find you but everyone forbade it," she says, finally releasing him and pulling back enough to hold him by the shoulders and look into his eyes. "I’m so sorry it happened to you. You deserved, and _still_ deserve, so much better."

"It’s fine. It was a long time ago. If I can forgive Malfoy, I can certainly forgive you, especially since you guys didn’t do anything."

"Doing nothing is sometimes just as bad as doing something," Hermione replies sadly, and Harry doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

"Oi, what was this I heard about a peace offering?" Ron teases, and when Harry holds up the paper bag, he takes and looks inside. He gasps, "No way! You haven’t changed a bit."

Harry bites his lip. "I have a bit."

"Nah. You’re still Harry."

 _Still Harry_ , Harry repeats in his head. _Still Harry._

"Harry," Hermione says once they’ve sat down. Hermione and Harry sipping on their drinks and Ron devouring his sandwich. "What. . . what _happened_ last night?"

Harry swallows thickly. He should have expected this, but truly he was so worked up about reuniting himself with the pair that the question hits him like a sucker punch. He hadn’t been worried when he told Lupin and Sirius the first time they saw it happen all those months ago in Grimmauld place, but now, it feels like a scar he’s having to show.

"I. . . I don’t know how to explain it without making it sound really bad."

"Well, it did _look_ bad, Harry. . ." she looks at Ron for a moment, "so we’re kind of expecting you to tell us something bad."

Harry chuckles breathlessly and nods, "Right, right. It. . . uh, it’s something linked to what Dumbledore told me about what happened before I was born with Vol— the Dark Lord, and we’re kind of. . . connected."

Ron shakes his head. "Connected. . . how?"

"Connected. . . through the mind," Harry explains, and both of their eyes widen. "I have these visions of sort, and I can see either into his mind or through his eyes."

"You. . . what?" Ron blinks, sitting up straight as if he’s startled. "You can see into his _mind?"_

Harry nods. "Most of the time it happens when I’m sleeping. Lupin says it’s because thet’s when my mind is 'vulnerable'."

"What do you see?"

"Nothing nice," Harry replies, vague and final. He doesn't want to go into too much detail because the whole concept makes him feel naked and uncomfortable. He's only just rekindled their friendship, he doesn't want to drive them away again by scaring them.

"It's been happening for two years," Harry adds. "Apparently that was around the time he was resurrected."

Hermione nods. "I remember that. The whole wizariding world was in uproar."

"Who knows about this? About what you can do," Ron asks.

"Sirius and Lupin, The Order, Dumbledore, and now you guys, I guess," Harry lists, taking a deep, calming breath. "I don't even know if _he_ is aware of what he's doing and revealing."

"Is it possible he could not be aware of this?"

"Well, we're connected, so I don't know if he knows if if it happens subconsciously. For so long I just put it down to nightmares, but then they started happening while I was awake. And with my scar hurting at the same time it was way too much of a coinscidence _not_ to be linked to him," Harry rubs the bridge of his nose. His head still pounding. "Besides, it's not like I can _ask_ him if he's aware he's spilling his secrets with me."

"When you saw my dad. . ." Ron says warily. "You weren't asleep them."

Harry rubs the back of his neck. "No. Sometimes they happen when I'm awake, like what you saw. I haven't really figured out the whole cause for them yet or why they happen _when_ they happen, but I can't stop them when they do."

Hermione opens and closes her mouth a few times. Harry's eyes flicker to their hands that are linked between their legs.

"So, when you collapsed, you were seeing. . ."

"Your dad at the Ministry," Harry nods, looking down at his feet. "Yeah. It. . . I can't get it out of my head."

Ron looks at him with a torn expression. "I haven't. . . I haven't thanked you yet, or apologised."

Harry frowns. "What for? You haven't done anything?"

Harry doesn't know if Ron is talking about their five year feud or what happened the night before, but either way, he is still confused.

"Thanked you for saving my dad and apologised for how I reacted. I shouldn't have shouted, you were so freaked out and you had every right to be."

"Ron, you didn't do anything wrong. It's your dad, you reacted as any scared son would have."

Ron shakes his head vigorously. "I'm still sorry," he repeats. Sighing, he drops his shoulders and rubs his forehead. "Damn, if that'd happened to me and I'd seen anything like that, even if it wasn't someone I knew, I don't know how I would've been able to get up like you have."

Harry smiles shyly. "You get used to it."

"I never want to get used to seeing you like that," Ron shakes his head. "It was. . ."

He breaks off and Hermione rubs his shoulder.

"Sorry you guys had to see it," Harry admits sheepishly.

"No," Hermione quickly says, reaching across with her free hand to grab Harry's. Her hands are warm and almost the same size as his own cold, small ones. "Don't you dare apologise for something you can't control. It was awful, but as horrible as it sounds, if it hadn't happened, we would be somewhere a lot worse than a hospital."

Harry nods and smiles at her, grateful and half mad at himself that it's taken him this long to remember how _good_ they are.

 

The nurse allows them back into Arthur’s room not long after they’ve finished their teas and sandwiches. Going in, Harry’s heart is hammering: he’s not sure if he’s ready to see Mr Weasley considering the last time he _saw_ him was in a Dark Lord-induced vision where he was being attacked by a large snake.

Mr Weasley is on a ward with three other beds, but his is the only one taken up.

"Harry," Molly whispers, her eyes filling with shining tears. Harry is sick of seeing that now. She stands up, quickly rounding the bed. She stands in front of him, as if afraid to reach out to him. "I don’t now what would have happened if it hadn’t been for you. No one had any idea where he was, he would have been there for hours if you hadn’t. . . oh, love—" she lets out a watery sob before she’s reaching out and enveloping Harry in a hug that is so, _so_ familiar. Harry can’t stop himself from leaning into it, from melting into the love and affection and _care_ in the hug. Harry doesn’t know how long Molly is hugging him for, but when she pulls away and holds his face in her hands, his heart aches at the tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. "Dear, I can’t thank you enough for what you did."

"I didn’t do anything," Harry argues weakly.

Molly smiles. "But you _did_ , Harry. You saved my husband, the father of my children. You _saved_ him."

She strokes his hair off his forehead. She frowns, her hand coming back to rest against his skin. "Are you feeling alright, Harry? You’re forehead is awful warm."

"I’m fine," Harry lies, flashing her the most reassuring smile he can muster. "We need to focus on Arthur, he’s the one in the hospital bed."

Molly smiles again. "I just. . ." tears fill her eyes again and before anyone can do anything, another voice is calling out.

"Stop crying, Moll, you scaring the kid."

Everyone’s head snap towards the bed where Arthur is grinning against the pillows.

"Dad!"

"Arthur," Molly sighs in relief, going back to his bedside. She collapses in the chair, taking his hand in both of hers. "How are you feeling, love?"

"As good as I felt before my nap," Arthur replies, smiling. "I feel fine, love. How are you all? What did I miss?"

"We just had some tea and sandwiches, Dad," Bill answers. "The nurse wouldn’t let us back in for a while."

"Why’s that?"

"They were doing some tests on your wounds, Arthur," Molly replies. "You need to keep the bandages on permanently until they find an antidote to cure the problems from the venom."

Arthur rolls his eyes, looking at Ron and Ginny on his other side. "Your mother is making it sound worse than it is, kiddo’s. I’m absolutely dandy."

"You don’t look it," Ginny says nervously.

"Well, I _feel_ alright, and that’s the main thing, right?" Arthur takes her hand and squeezes it, winking that makes Ginny giggle slightly.

He looks at Harry, his eyes finding him immediately.

"Harry, my boy, I can’t thank you enough. Molly and Bill told me what happened, what you did. You’re a handy fella, aren’t you? Saved my life."

Harry shrugs one shoulder, too tired to argue anymore. "It wasn’t exactly intentional. I’m just glad you’re okay, Mr Weasley."

"I sure am too, Harry," Arthur smiles.

The moment is broken into oblivion when the door bursts open and the twins pile in, hair askew and clothes flapping.

"Dad!" They both shout in unison.

"Boys," Arthur smiles.

The boys push themselves through the row of chairs circled around the bed to get to their fathers side, but before they can reach him, Molly jumps up.

"Don’t trample him!" She gasps.

"Molly, Molly," Arthur soothes, taking her hand and gently pulling her back down to the chair. "It’s fine, I’m fine."

"But—"

"Dad, what happened?"

"We heard you were at the Ministry—"

"Which has been taken over—"

"By Death Eaters."

"So what in Merlin’s Beard—"

"Where you bloody doing there?"

"Language!"

"All right, all right, everybody calm down for a moment or you’ll give me a headache," Arthur interrupts. He looks between the twins and his wife and sighs. "I will explain everything as soon as you all _sit down_."

With a huff, the twins drop down in the two spare chairs at the foot of the bed. Now, the entire Weasley clan are sat in a half circle around Arthur while Harry and Lupin sit just outside the circle.

Arthur lets out a heavy breath. "I’ve already explained this to Moody, who I imagine is reciting it back to Dumbledore as we speak, but I was at the Ministry to collect something when Nagini, You-Know-Who’s snake, cornered me."

"Are you barmy mad?" George snaps.

"The Ministry has been taken over, dad! Why would you go there?" Fred adds. Harry is proud that he is able to decipher the two of them against each other.

"I just told you, I had to get something."

"Something that was worth walking into a pit of Death Eaters and potentially the Dark Lord?" George counters.

"Boys, calm down—" Bill tries, but then he’s interrupted.

"Actually," Ron says, sitting forward. "I want to know too. What was so important?"

Arthur casts his eyes down. "That’s not for you guys to know, what you need to know is that what I needed was retrieved and in good hands now, just as I am."

Both the twins are shaking their heads, but then they smile, both out of relief. "Unbelievable."

The conversation morphs between talking about the twins and talking about Hogwarts. Out of relief and cheer, the Weasley’s talk about everything but the reasons surrounding Arthur’s hospital stay and anything else to do with the trouble the world is being plagued with.

Behind them, Lupin watches with a feeling inside his chest that swells at the sight of the family, having come so close to being harmed and divided, laughing and talking. It takes him little time to notice the weight on his shoulder and looks down to see Harry, arms curled against his chest, head resting by the crook of Lupin’s neck.

Remus moves an arm to rope around his shoulder.

"Are you alright, Harry?" He asks softly, as to not startle him or interrupt the Weasley’s.

Harry hums in reply.

"Promise?"

He hums again. "J’st resting’ m’eyes."

Lupin chuckles. "All right, kiddo."

Barely ten minutes pass before Lupin recognises the slow rise and fall of Harry's chest and the relaxed, deep breaths he exhales.

Without disturbing him, Lupin manages to get Harry into his arms and carry him to the bed next to Arthur's. He lays Harry down on his side, his legs automatically curling up and his arms tucking into his chest. He looks so small and so young. Lupin strokes the wild curls off his forehead, the hair bouncing back instantly but Lupin is too focused on worrying at the pallor of his skin and the bags so dark under his eyes he looks like he lost a punch fight. He noticed that Harry hadn’t touched the sandwiches or the pastries they’d brought up to the others, nor had been at breakfast or dinner in the Great Hall the previous days. He looks at the hollow in-cave of his cheeks and the delicate bones of his wrists. Lupin puts it on the top of his mental to-do list to make sure Harry starts eating properly— or even _regularly_ would be a start.

"Is he okay?"

Looking over his shoulder, Lupin see's all the of Weasley group looking at him and Harry.

"Oh, God, is Harry okay?" Hermione asks in alarm, looking like she's ready to bolt to his side.

"He’s fine, just exhausted I think," Lupin assures them. "What happened last night took a lot out of him and he hasn’t had a chance to really recover yet."

They all frown.

"He does look awful pale," Molly agrees. "Poor thing."

The twins look between everyone. "What happened last night to Harry?"

Everyone exchanges looks, but eventually they all land on Remus.

He sits down on the edge of the bed beside Harry.

"Uh," he murmurs. "It’s not something I want to discuss here, but Harry has an ability that enabled him to see what was happening to your father as it was happening."

"Hence why I am here and not de—"

"Arthur!" Molly yelps.

"Sorry, dear," Arthur squeezes her hand. He looks back at the twins, "Why I am alive. Harry is the reason I am alive."

"What did. . ." George looks around, lost. "What did Harry do?"

"Harry should be the one to explain it," Lupin replies. It’s an easy cop out, but he is uncertain if Harry is okay with it being discussed so publicly.

"Are you sure he’s going to be okay?" Bill asks.

"He’s been okay every other time," Lupin replies, shrugging one shoulder. Truthfully he has no idea whether Harry is going to be okay. He’s new to this, and he’s only seen it a couple of times and while Harry has got up every time, who knows when it’s going to be the _last_ time. "I think he’ll be fine when we get back to the school. He just needs to get some rest."

"Looks like he needs a decent meal too," Fred says.

"He’s so tiny he could be snapped in two like a twig," George adds.

"What a lovely analogy, Fred."

"I’m George."

Molly rolls her eyes. "I am _not_ falling for that again."

The twins look at each other.

"Bloody woman," they say in unison.

"Language!" Molly shrieks, and everyone finds it in themselves to chuckle.

 

_— tbc._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to clarify, I have no idea if St Mungo's has a gift shop and a little cafe, but I treated it to seem like every other hospital. sorry for the flat ending to the chapter, just wanted to get it finished and posted.
> 
> thanks for reading! :)


	10. Pieces of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, this chapter is mostly talking but it's all needed. I've also finally got the rest of the plot written out so hopefully the next chapters won't each take a decade to be posted :)

9

Arthur gets out of hospital after a week of blood replenishments when an antidote for Nagini's venom is finally found. He's healed almost over night after that, the witches and healers are able to seal the wound like it was a slice from a simple knife instead of venomous fangs and he's home in no time. The Weasley's are calmer after that, less snappy. They'd been worried sick the entire duration of Arthur's stay, as they should have been. Ron was especially snappy, but Harry expected none the less.

Harry is back to his normal self the day after the vision. Him and Lupin go back to the castle as soon as Arthur is confirmed to be in the clear and they leave the Weasley's to enjoy their time with their father. Arthur and Molly insist that Harry doesn't need to go, that he can stay and that he is _welcome_ to stay, but Harry insists that he needs to be getting back to the castle with Remus.

The vision took a lot out of Harry - for some reason more than normal - so he spends the few days when the pair return in bed dozing. Dumbledore questions him on what he saw, but when Harry refuses to answer anymore questions because the Headmaster isn’t telling him why Arthur was at the Ministry in the first place, the conversation ceases to a stop and Harry storms out. He has not a lot against Dumbledore, but to be interrogated and not to be told anything is starting to get old and Harry feels invested enough into the cause now to have a right to know everything everyone else does.

It’s on the third night after Harry and Remus return to the castle that Harry convinces the Order to let him go on watch. He exchanges with Tonks, who looks ready to face-plant into her bed when she comes through the dorm room door. Harry chuckles, patting her on the shoulder before taking off.

He’s on his last packet of cigarettes, but he’s managed to speak to Lupin and Sirius about going back to London for a few days to hand in and pick up any new college work and speak to everyone he’s left behind, assure them he’s still okay and that his lack of phone calls are nothing to worry about.

Wandering the corridors of the castle, Harry wonders how much of the castle is still left unexplored. In the two years he attended as a student, Harry saw most corners of the castle - even the places he wasn’t meant to. He can’t imagine he was ever meant to see what was on the third-floor corridor or underneath it, or the chamber of secrets, or even the girls bathroom where Myrtle haunts and cries.

Making his way outside, it’s cold and windy. He huddles in the court yard on the wall, between two posts holding the stone shelter up. Pulling his knees to his chest, Harry lights the end of his cigarette with the tip of his finger and greedily inhales the nicotine and smoke.

It doesn’t take long - though longer than normal - before Harry hears the almost silent sound of feet on stone and he looks over his shoulder.

Draco stands mostly in the dark, his long robes draped over him like a shadow. He stands with a kind of weight over him, as if he has stones on his shoulders, pushing him down.

"Hey," Harry says, voice soft and quiet. "Are you okay?"

Draco nods wordlessly and closes the distance between them, coming to sit beside Harry on the wall and have his legs hanging off, swinging.

Harry looks at him. "You seem paler than when I left. Getting sick?"

Draco shakes his head.

"Well," Harry takes a drag of his cigarette. "You look like shit."

Draco snorts. "Can’t say you look much better, Potter."

"Ay!" Harry cheers, "There’s that fire."

He nudges Draco’s shoulder and feels something at the way Draco dips his head to hide his smile.

"I’m going back to London for a few days," Harry says.

Draco looks up. "You. . . what?"

"It’s only for a few days, don’t panic," Harry stubs out his dead cigarette. "I just need to go to college and check in on everyone."

"Did you leave people behind?"

"Quite a few," Harry smiles. "They’ve all been so good to me, I owe them to keep in touch."

"You're going back to London?" Draco asks, ominous in his tone.

Harry frowns. "Yeah. Why?"

"Just be careful," Draco says, and instantly, his cheeks flush a strawberry red and he opens his mouth like a flapping fish out of water. "I mean--"

"Why would I need to be careful?" Harry asks, and he can feel something hot rolling up his spine, his hands getting almost itchy with suspicion. He knows exactly what Draco is and who he is in contact with, and Draco saying this and looking like a shaken cat is connecting too many dots. Harry is almost angry _for_ him of how he is, angry for him that he's a scared child being put in a hard situation. But Harry is also mad _at_ him now that he won't say anything.

"Because we're in a war, aren't we?" Draco says. "Bad things can happen in big cities, you need to watch your back."

Harry clenches his jaw and refrains from grabbing Draco by the head and shaking him until he breaks down and tells Harry what is going to happen.

Instead, Harry says nothing, and his knows the silence is thick with tension. He also knows Draco can feel it too, because he's shifting on the wall like he doesn't know what to do.

"What happened to Weasley’s father?" Draco asks.

Harry reclines back against the stone post. "Attacked by Nagini’s snake. I don’t know what he was doing, but she cornered him."

Draco’s back stiffens. "Is he okay now?"

"Yeah," Harry whispers. "Yeah, he’s all fine now. Why’d you wanna know?"

Draco shrugs one shoulder.

"Is it because you want to know, or because you’ve been asked to know."

Draco’s head snaps towards Harry so fast Harry wouldn’t be surprised if it hurt. There’s a blaze in his eyes, a nasty fire and a scowl in his lips.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Why did you ask about Arthur?" Harry counters.

There’s a sinking feeling in his gut and he knows Draco isn’t asking this because he necessarily wants to. If the pallor of his skin, the bags under his eyes and the sketchiness of his actions say anything to Harry, it’s that something has changed for Draco and it’s not good. Harry isn’t going to pretend Draco is innocent in all of Voldemort’s plans. He has no idea what it is Draco is being made to do or how involved he is, but either way, Draco is being forced onto the side he may or may not want to be on.

"Because I care," Draco says eventually, and Harry can hear the lie as clear as day.

"You’re Draco Malfoy. You couldn’t care for the Weasley’s if your life depended on it," Harry leans forward. "The clocks ticking, Draco. I’ve said it to you before and I’ll say it again, you don’t have to do something you don’t want to do. I don’t care if you think it’s in your blood or your genes or your fucking destiny. Family names mean shit, and you are not your family."

"Why are you doing this?" Draco demands.

"Because people are getting _hurt_ , Draco. _You’re_ getting hurt. You look like a fucking mess and it—"

"It what?" Draco shouts.

"It’s not fair. You shouldn’t be a part of this."

"Why should I be less of a part than you?" Draco asks. "Where is this coming from? Why are you bringing it up now?"

"I don’t know," Harry breathes. "Maybe I just needed to get it off my chest, but people I care about are starting to get hurt again, you included, and I don’t want anyone I don’t want to kill to be a reason for it."

"You. . . you care about me?"

"I don’t spend my nights speaking to anyone, do I?" Harry replies. He sighs and after a long minute, he looks down. "I don’t know what you’re being made to do, but please, just. . . be careful."

"You got mad when I told you to be careful," Draco whispers.

"Yeah, but that's because I know there's a deeper meaning to what you're trying to tell me," Harry says. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Draco looks at him like he wants to cry on his shoulder but also dislocate it at the same time.

Harry leans back, fishing out his almost empty packet of cigarettes. He puts one between his lips then holds the open box towards Draco.

"Want one?"

"You know I don't smoke," Draco replies softly, almost tired.

"I know," Harry pockets it and lights the tip of his own. "Just thought I'd be generous."

"You shouldn't smoke so much. You look like shit and you're all skin and bone. Bin the drugs and eat a fucking meal."

"Woah," Harry laughs. "Alright, feisty. What meal should I eat?"

"Something fattening."

Harry laughs. "Are you gonna cook it for me?"

"Who do you think I am? Malfoy’s don't cook for themselves. That's what house elves are for."

Harry scrunches up his nose. "I hate using house elves."

"Why? They will do anything you want."

"Exactly."

"You sound like Hermione. It's their purpose."

"It shouldn't be anybody's purpose to be a slave and get treated like a dog."

Draco rolls his eyes. "They don't mind."

Harry hums, taking a long intake of his cigarette. "I still don't like it. You'd think differently too if you lived with the Dursley's for nine years."

"What?" Draco frowns. "I thought your life with the Dursley’s was great?"

"Where the fuck did you hear that?"

Draco blinks. "I just. . . I assumed the Boy Who Lived lived in nothing but luxury. Right? You were a blessing to your relatives, a miracle or whatever. Right?"

"Right," Harry says slowly, "And do you think living in an under stairs cupboard is luxury?"

Draco blinks in surprise. "You. . . what?"

"You heard me," Harry snaps. "Don't assume, Malfoy."

Draco swallows, looking down at his lap. His eyebrows are so furrowed they're practically merged together.

"You look like you're having an internal crisis," Harry says, desperate to lighten the mood.

"You would be to if. . ."

"If what?"

"If you person you thought was treated best in the world has been no better treated than a house elf."

Harry smiles. "It's not that surprising, surely. People come from bad homes all the time."

"Yeah, but. . ." Draco looks at him, "You're Harry Potter."

"Told you names don't mean shit."

Draco snorts in surprise.

Harry places a gentle hand on his shoulder and Draco looks at him in surprise. He doesn’t pull away, and Harry squeezes it slightly.

"Take care of yourself while I’m gone," he says. "I’ll only be a few days, but. . ."

"A lot can happen in a few days," Draco finishes.

Harry smiles, almost sadly. "Yeah, it can."

Draco looks down at his lap again and Harry takes his hand away. He lights another cigarette and looks out across the courtyard.

It’s a long time before either of them speak, and it’s Draco who breaks the silence.

"Are you scared?"

Harry drags his eyes away from the stone architecture of the castle and looks at the blonde next to him.

"No," Harry replies. "If Voldemort was as powerful as everyone says he is, he wouldn’t be stumped by a 17 year old boy. He would have found me in London, and he would gave got rid of me like he’s got rid of the rest of his hurdles."

"He’s more dangerous than you know, Harry," Draco says.

"I’m sure he is," Harry replies, "but I also think he’s weaker than he puts on. Everyone has their weak spots, and he’s trying damn hell hard to hide his."

"They’re saying he’s worse than Grindelwald."

"Nobody is invincible," Harry says softly. "Even the greatest villains miss something. This war will end, Draco. We might not win, but I hope hat if we don’t, I go down trying."

"You can’t think like that."

"Better than how you’re thinking," Harry stubs out the dead cigarette and wraps his arms around his middle.

At dawn, they climb off the wall and Harry looks at Draco once more: at his gaunt figure and tired eyes, at his hunched shoulders and nervous stance.

"Watch your back, Draco," Harry says. "You never know who might be pointing a wand at it."

"Yeah," Draco murmurs. "You too, Potter."

Harry leaves the next morning. He walks out of the Order’s dorm room before breakfast, coat buttoned up and rucksack on his back. Everybody is on their way to the great hall, so Harry takes this as the opportunity to Apparate from the front steps to his apartment living room.

He forgot the state he left his home in. Half filled coffee cups with green films on the top sit abandoned on the tables and kitchen sides. Books are left open and stacked. The dishes he washed up before he left sit dusty on the drainer. He’s lucky he naturally has empty cupboards and that the only thing with a short enough sell-by date was a half finished loaf of bread, which is so moulded it’s practically dust in a bag when he dumps it in the bin.

Shoving his most recent load of washing in the machine (he’d done his best to keep the house elves from doing it but they’d always find a way to get ahold of it when he was out of the dorm) before he stuffs his college work into his old rucksack. He opens one of the living room windows to get some fresh air into the flat before he makes his way out, trying to remind himself that he can’t use magic for the next few days.

 

Sirius is worried. He didn’t want Harry to go back to London, especially not alone, but the teen was adamant and Sirius has learnt over the last few months that if Harry shares anything with his parents, it’s their shared strong will and refusal to change their minds. Harry had his heart set on going home for a few days, and nothing Sirius or Remus or even Dumbledore could say could convince him to change his mind.

It’s already been two days, and while Harry warned Sirius that he wouldn’t be able to get in touch because Hogwarts doesn’t have a landline, Sirius is still finding reasons to be an anxious mess. His breakfast sits uneasy in his stomach the morning Harry is meant to get home. He told them three days, and it's been a very long three days of waiting.Even Lupin, who's patience is far higher for Sirius than anyone else’s, has been getting sick of his persistent vocal whining about his concern for his Godson in London.

"Sirius, we are not going to London to find him," Lupin says on the third night. "Harry is an adult-- almost. He's a smart kid, he knows how to take care of himself."

"Oh yeah?" Sirius almost snaps, "Even against Voldemort and his croonies?"

Lupin's face goes cold. "Sirius, we don't even know if _he_ is aware of Harry's whereabouts or if he's even alive anymore. I mean, _we_ didn't even know where he was for five years. He's coming home tomorrow morning, give the kid a bit of credit and a bit of freedom. He's gone from living on his own to living with a world watching his back."

Sirius opens his mouth, but he closes it weakly. "I can't lose him again, Moony," he says. "I just. . . I need to know he's okay."

Lupin sighs, squeezing Sirius' shoulder gently. "If he isn't back tomorrow, we'll go and find him. Alright? I know you're worried, Pads, and you have every right to be. It's good, it shows attachment or whatever you're meant to have for your Godson, but like I said, Harry's an independent kid. Damn, he's more independent than half the adults in this school."

"Are you really not worried at all?"

"Of course I'm worried about him. Every second of the day, even when he's here, I'm worried about him. I'm worried he's going to have a vision, I'm worried he's going to get hurt or attacked or You-Know-Who is going to turn up and Harry isn't trained enough or we're not fast enough and he gets hurt or worse. I'm always worried, Pads, but that's part of caring for someone. It's taking a lot of resistance to give in to you and my own worries and go to London in search for him. But I also think Harry needs this: he needed to go back home to his friends and college and he needs these three days away, alone, back to some normalcy. We changed his world very quickly after we found him."

"I guess," Sirius rubs his face with both of his hands. He lets out a groan, followed by a tired sigh. "I just. . . I'm torn between wanting to hit him out of frustration or wrap him in a blanket and cuddle him like a five year old. He's just. . . he's so grown up but you can see, you can _see_ it in him, Moony, that he's vulnerable underneath all of that snark."

"He is," Remus murmurs. "He's vulnerable and that makes him defensive. You must understand, Pads, you must _relate_ to how he feels and acts. His whole life, he's had one threat or another. It was his aunt and uncle, then it was Hogwarts, then it was the streets. Tammy was good to him, but she couldn't undo the damage already done."

Sirius nods, but his eyes are still unseeing and Remus knows his words have done little in that moment to calm him.

"He'll be back today, you'll see," he says. "Come on, let’s go watch Quidditch. Surely you want to see Slytherin get their asses handed to them?"

Sirius takes a moment, but he does eventually smirk. "Would be quite satisfying."

"Atta boy," Lupin grins, clapping him on the shoulder and wrapping an arm around his back as he pulls and guides him out the dorm room door.

Outside, the air is crisp and fresh, a slight chill on bare skin. Groups of students are running towards the stadiums beyond the green surrounding the castle walls.

"It's been so long since I watched one of these live," Remus murmurs as they make their way into the stands.

"It's been a long time since I watched one of these in general," Sirius replies, and Lupin claps him on the back as he laughs.

In the stands, the students are rowdy and building themselves up for the game. They're bumping into each other, shoulders tight and pressing together like sardines in a tin.

Sirius has missed this: standing in the stalls, the adrenaline pumping through his veins with anticipation. He’s also missed flying. Him and James were the kings of Quidditch when they were at school, any free time and the pair were flying around the pitch, Remus and Peter in the stands watching. They’d race, chase each other, practice the game and skill. Sirius was proud of his Quidditch skills, of his and James’ playing reputation.

He reminisces in the times when him and James would fawn over ideas of having careers as players, famous and idolised for being incredible players, winning the World Cup’s and soaring around on their brooms. It’d been a dream for both of them for a long time during their Hogwarts years, but had been put on hold before they even graduated because of the First Wizarding War. Him and James had had it planned: after the War, after they _won_ , they were going to keep playing, keep practicing until they got somewhere and were _something_. They were going to teach Harry, make sure he was a star when he started Hogwarts, make sure he made the team when he was old enough.

But none of that happened, and Sirius’ chest is heavy as he thinks about it.

"Hey, I think it’s starting," Lupin says, and moments after the space above the pitch is filled with flying players and the crowds are roaring with their movement.

Gryffindor is winning by one when someone steps up close to Sirius. He turns, about to remind them of the wonder that is personal space when he recognises the flash of wild, black hair and they say, "I’ve forgotten what it’s like to fly."

Sirius looks at Harry, almost awe-struck that he’s actually there. He resists the strong urge to grab Harry and strangle him in a hug. He’s relieved Harry is here: safe and present and unharmed.

He’s surprised in himself too: he hadn’t expected to feel this way. He’s only known Harry for a couple of months, but the attachments he’s made towards the younger male, his _Godson_ , have surprised him and also scared him. The last time he had attachments like this to someone, he got them killed and himself thrown in Azkaban.

"You could also fly around here, Harry," Remus says on his other side. "Dumbledore wouldn’t mind you practicing some while we’re here. It’s perfectly safe, after all."

Harry nods, grinning at the flying players. "Might have too. Man, the team has changed so much. Is that. . . is that Ron?!"

Lupin laughs, "It is, and Ginny too."

"Holy shit," Harry breathes.

"Hey, if you’re good no the broom, Sirius will teach you how to play Quidditch."

"I already know how to play," Harry replies. "I was Seeker in my first year."

Sirius blinks. "You. . . what?"

Harry looks across at him. "I was Gryffindor Seeker in my first year. McGonagall caught my flying in my first flying lesson and dragged me straight to Oliver Wood, the captain. They made me Seeker there and then."

"That’s impossible," Lupin says. "First years aren’t allow to play for the team."

"I know, that’s what everyone told me too but McGonagall insisted. Ron was pretty mad about it though, he deserved to be in the team too."

"Well, he is now."

"Y’know," Sirius finally speaks, "Your father was the Chaser when he was at Hogwarts."

Harry meets his eyes. He nods slightly and replies in a smaller, almost hushed voice, "I know. I. . . I saw the trophies in my first year. You were a Beater, right?"

Sirius smiles, proud and nostalgically. "Yeah."

"I can imagine you as a Beater," Harry muses, smirking. "Lupin, did you play at all?"

"Oh no," Lupin shake his head, eyes back on the field. "No, James and Sirius were the sports players. I just sat in the stalls and cheered."

"If you can imagine it, Remus was the soft, shy one while me and your father were—"

"Arrogant and cocky?"

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "I was going to say rebellious and confident, but. . ."

"But you're not wrong, Harry," Lupin finishes, and Sirius turns his head to gawk at his friend. "What? Am I wrong?"

"Yes!"

Lupin simply side-eyes him, amused, before he looks back at the pitch. "Whatever you say."

Sirius scoffs but he doesn't miss the way Harry chuckles beside him.

"You're both tossers."

Lupin snorts and Harry barks a laugh.

The game is almost finished, scores tied, when Harry straightens up suddenly.

"Is that. . ." Sirius looks over at him, squinting, "Is that Draco?"

"Who? Malfoy?"

"Do you know another Draco?" Harry snarks.

"Yes, Harry, it is Draco," Lupin replies. "He's been playing Seeker for four years now."

"I remember, he was so mad when I made the team in my first year. He was so cocky when he joined," Harry smirks. "Didn't think he'd last that long, to be honest."

"It's a wonder Slytherin's can be on teams at all," Sirius mutters darkly. "They're hardly team players, all self-centred and all."

"They're as much of a family as the next house," Harry counters. "They're just a lot more vocal of their confidence."

Sirius look at Harry, but his Godsons eyes are defiantly on the pitch. Someone scores, assumably Gryffindor, because the crowd goes wild and Harry and Lupin are roaring as they jump up and down, but Sirius can't shake himself out of his drop.

He's beginning to wonder if perhaps he still doesn't really know Harry at all.

 

Harry makes his way out of the stalls, the game ceased and the students still screaming and shouting about moments of the game. He heads towards the field, where the players have landed off their brooms.

Harry shoves his hands in his pockets

"Harry!" Ginny smiles, beaming, post-match adrenaline still keeping her light on her toes. "How are you?"

Harry nods. "I’m fine. Your dad still doing fine?"

"He’s absolutely fine," Ginny nods, "Thank you, Harry."

Another player comes up behind her, draping their arm around her shoulder and they dash off towards the changing rooms.

Harry spots Ron, who’s hair is damp with sweat and freckled cheeks are flushed a vibrant red. His face is drawn down in a frown, his open mouth letting out harsh pants. His eyes widen when he spots Harry coming towards him.

"Hey, Harry," Ron says, standing taller. "You're back."

"Yeah," Harry smiles. "Good game, by the way."

Ron’s shoulders drop. "We lost."

"You're still playing, though," Harry shrugs. He walks away from Ron, through the Gryffindor team and towards the winners dressed in green.

Draco, who is being patted on the back by the Chaser Harry doesn't recognise, meets Harry's eyes instantly.

Harry feels himself break out into a grin, and he makes his way over to the gaping Seeker.

"Hey," Harry smirks. "Still playing Seeker, huh?"

Draco closes his gaping mouth. "You're, uh. . . y-you're back? You're back from London?"

Harry hums. "Did you miss me?"

"Of course not," Draco replies, stroking his sweat-slick hair back of his flushed face. "Wasn't expecting you back so soon."

"Didn't feel the need to stay any longer," Harry shrugs.

"Yeah, well, London sucks."

Harry barks a laugh. "Why's that?"

"It's all. . . Muggle," Draco shudders. "It's a sad way of living."

Harry just rolls his eyes, not wanting to five into the melodramas already with Draco about the obnoxious ways he thinks about Muggle living.

"Go take a shower, Malfoy," Harry winks, "You small like shit."

"Piss off, you tosser," Draco grumbles, shouldering past Harry but not knocking him in the slightest, the movement soft and friendly.

"Hey, mate," Ron comes running up to him. "You wanna come to the Gryffindor party? We didn't win, but Fred and George said they're still going to throw a party."

Harry looks at Draco's retreating back before looking back at Ron, smiling and nodding.

"Sure, buddy."

 

Annually, Hogwarts now hold their very own version the Yule Ball that takes place before Christmas as a kind of pre-holiday celebration. It was petitioned and decided for after the Triwizard Tournament that took place a few years before when a group of girls created a kind of activist group to make Dumbledore give them a kind of Christmas ball.

This year, Harry finds out that the ball had been postponed due to what was going down in the Ministry and with You-Know-Who, and a group of fourth year girls have banded together to fight and argue and convince Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore to have the forgotten Hogwarts-ified 'Yule Ball' now.

Why? Harry has no idea, no idea why in the world the 14 year old girls think _now_ is the time to throw a stupid celebratory ball. Harry listens to Ron whine about his ugly dress robes and the stupidity that is the dance, and all Harry can think about is the times he's snuck into clubs in London with Sammy and the others, fake ID's working a mint. Those where good nights, but he can't imagine the dance is going to be like that. Harry can't even fantom that Dumbledore will even tolerate loud music, let alone alcohol.

In the Gryffindor common room, where Harry has been spending a fair amount of his daily time when Ron has free periods, Harry grins to himself at the image of Hogwarts corridors riddled with vomiting and stumbling, drunken and stupid wizard students.

"What are you grinning at?" Ron asks, reclined on the opposite couch. The common room is pretty much empty apart from two students Harry doesn't recognise in the corner, faces so low and close to the parchment they're writing on Harry would be surprised if they didn't have ink on their cheeks.

"Nothing," Harry shakes his head. "Say, how bad are these dances really?"

"They are nothing into comparison of what I imagine a London party is like," Ron grumbles. "They suck. You're supposed to find a date but it's not a 'rule', which means you look _really_ lame turning up alone. You have to dance, and dress nice, and—" Ron physically lets out a fully body shudder. "The girls are _unbearable_. It was a relief for us guys when Dumbledore cancelled it before Christmas. Now those stupid girls had to go and—"

"Who are you going with?"

Ron blinks. "What?"

"I said, who are you going with?" Harry repeats.

"Oh, uh. . ." Ron shifts on the sofa, suddenly restless. "I-I don't—"

"Hermione, I assume?" Harry quirks an eyebrow, one side of his lips turned up in a sly smirk.

Ron's face glows as red as the Gryffindor jumper he's lounging in instead of his robes. He sputters, opening his mouth to speak, letting out a gurgled sound before closing it and trying again.

"Chill out, mate," Harry laughs. "Don't give yourself a bloody heart attack."

"Me and Hermione— we aren't— we're not—"

Harry silences him with the sharp incline of his eyebrow that clearly silently screams _mate you are fooling no one right now_.

Ron's shoulders sag, "How did you find out?"

"Well, apart from the holding hands and resting your heads on each other's shoulders, you guys are as easy to read as a children's book," Harry replies. "I'm not blind. You guys look at each other like the other is holding the whole world in their hands. In the hospital, you guys didn't leave each other's sides— literally, it was like your hips were glued together. You haven't whined about her once since I got here, and you don't snap at her for making you revise or nagging you. You just. . . get this little look in your eye, as if you would never want her doing anything else."

Ron's eyes are wide and his mouth is slightly open. He stares at Harry in shock.

"Bloody hell, mate," he breathes. "You. . . bloody hell!"

Harry laughs, settling into the sofa cushions that are so squishy he practically disappears in them. "Why didn't you guys tell me?"

"Never a good time, I guess. I mean, we weren't even speaking to each other, wasn't exactly a good point to come up and say 'so we're not friends, but we just wanna let you know me and Mione are dating. Good?'"

Harry rolls his eyes, "Guess not. Well, I'm happy for you. Surprised? Definitely, but also happy."

"Surprised?"

"Mate, seriously? You guys _hated_ each other before I left," Harry scoffs. "You could barely be in the same room together without fighting. If anything, I would have you expected to be enemies more than a couple."

Ron smiles shyly, looking down at his hands. His cheeks are rosy with blush. "It just kind of. . . happened."

"Well," Harry grins when Ron looks up to meet his eyes, "you have my blessing."

Ron rolls his eyes, flopping his head back on the couch cushions. "Buggar off, you tosser."

"Quit your whining," Harry says, getting up, "At least you’ve got a date for the dance this time. You won’t be 'lame' and turn up alone."

"You can come with us," Ron sits up a bit. "We can go as a group. Of friends, obviously."

Harry chuckles, "Not keen on a threesome, then, buddy?"

Ron pulls a face so tight and twisted that Harry barks a laugh so hard his chest hurts from it.

"Um, no thanks, mate. Not that you’re not alright— uh. . . but. . . uh—"

"Ron, calm down," Harry smirks, grabbing his jacket off the chair. "I’ll see you later, yeah?"

"Yeah, sure," Ron frowns. "Where are you going?"

"Outside, then see if Tonks needs help with watch," Harry shrugs on his jacket. "Don’t stress too much about the dance. I’m sure you’ll look dashing, Hermione won’t let you look like an idiot."

Ron shakes his head. "Mate, you haven’t seen the bloody dress robes my mother sends."

Harry laughs on his way out, "I can imagine!"

Harry goes to find Tonks before he goes outside. He finds her in the dormitory with Bill, the pair of them lounging on the sofas much like Harry and Ron had been.

Tonks grins at him when he comes in. "Hey, Harry. You alright, kiddo?"

Harry nods. "Have you guys heard about this ball that’s meant to be happening?"

"Sure have," Tonks sits up, patting the bit of sofa cushion beside her. Harry drops down wordlessly, easily falling back against her so he’s laying across her legs, his head almost in her lap. Her hand instantly runs itself through his hair. Harry loves the way him and Tonks have become like siblings, falling into easy, laid back moments like this where they can just drape themselves across each other like annoying family relatives. "Dumbledore told us all last night while you were on watch that we’re required to turn up."

"We’re gonna be kind of like the security of the ball," Bill adds.

Harry snorts, fiddling with a loose thread on his jumper sleeve. "We’re gonna be the most un-intimidating bouncers _ever_."

Bill and Tonks chuckle.

"Do you think we really have to go?" Harry murmurs.

"Come on, Harry," Tonks chirps, "It’ll be fine. We get to dress up, have a dance. . ."

"Laugh at _other people_ dancing," Bill adds, grinning. Harry matches, wolfish smile filling his face.

"God, I can’t even imagine half of the Gryffindor’s dancing," Harry muses, resting his head back completely against Tonks, her hand buried and twirling in his hair.

"Ron is entertaining enough," Bill grins.

"What the hell do you wear to a Hogwarts Ball?"

"If you don’t have dress robes, I suggest anything smart," Bill replies. "Half the students probably turn up in the most horrific get-ups anyways - I know Ron does. The stuff mum sends him is an _eyesore_."

"Aren’t you worried what your mum might send you?"

"She won’t be sending me anything, I’ve already got Fleur on the case," Bill grins.

"Fleur?"

"My fiancé."

Harry’s eyes widen. "You have a fiancé? Why am I only just hearing about this?"

"We had to postpone the wedding because of everything that is happening. She’s currently in France with her family."

"She’s French?"

"She’s from Beauxbatons, a Wizarding school in France."

"She’s a Veela," Tonks adds.

"Quarter-Veela," Bill corrects.

Harry looks between the two. "What’s a Veela?"

"By description, they’re witches who are beautiful and seductive but when they’re angry, they change their appearance."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Seductive?"

"Basically, they’re hypnotic witches who look like birds when they get angry," Tonks says.

Bill’s head swivels towards them. "They are not birds!"

"They _look_ like birds."

"Are they Metamorphmagus’?"

"No, we’re far different from Veela," Tonks replies. "It’s difficult to explain exactly what they are, but Fleur is lovely."

"Is she part of the Order too?"

"She’s loyal to us, but I don’t want her too involved. She’s tough, of course, but she needs to be with her family," Bill smiles sadly. "This isn’t her war to fight."

 _Isn’t her war to fight_.

Harry replays the words in his head. It’s not Bills war either, or Tonks’, or Ron’s or Hermione’s or Sirius and Lupin. It’s no ones war but Harry’s, and every one of them could get hurt for him, _killed_ for him.

He could lose everyone all over again. Voldemort isn’t just coming after him, but he’s coming after everyone who’s on Harry’s side, who’s defending and protecting him.

They almost lost Arthur, and Harry, in that moment, makes a promise to himself not to let anyone else get hurt like that.

No one else will get hurt for him.

 

_— tbc._


End file.
